


The Degradation

by Mila_Addwang



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Danger, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fear, Feelings, Hurt Harry Styles, Hurt/Comfort, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Love, M/M, Philosophy, Psychological Drama, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-10-20 03:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 65,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mila_Addwang/pseuds/Mila_Addwang
Summary: "What would you do if you had only 100 days to live?"- Anonym"I don't know. I would just live, I guess, I would just try to live."- Louis.All have a past and a present. But some people have to fight to have a future.In this story, you'll discover how the loss of a love can destroy.Life can make you hurt.Link on the original text in French https://degradation.skyrock.com/Twitter of original writer https://twitter.com/WritingCamprivet account https://twitter.com/WritingNoahAlso, you can buy this book printed in French here: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/CamilleLand so else, you can read this book in Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/1195788





	1. Preamble

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Degradation](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/520544) by Camille L. 

We all have a past and a present.

Some people have to fight to have a future.

Life is a constant struggle, a struggle in which nothing is won in advance.

And if we give up, sometimes there can be a person to catch us.

In this story, you will know how the loss of a loved one can destroy.

How prejudice can make you underestimated.

How guilt can eat away at the inside.

How life can make you hurt.

_"What would you do if you only had 100 days to live? - Anonym_

_I don't know... I would probably live, I guess. I would try to live. - Louis »_

But if you take the risk to try to help someone.

There's a good chance that a person will hold on to you.

Hold on so tight that never gonna let you go.

**Louis Tomlinson & Harry Styles**


	2. Prologue

I'm the perfect cliché of life. A rich kid with rich parents. Surrounded by friends and girls at my feet. A guy with a perfect education and destiny. Bossy, a work-obsessed father, a prominent lawyer who wants the perfect son. Neurotic mother all in Botox. Secondary residence in the Hamptons and private golf club. Law school. Captain of the football team and red Lamborgini. Louis Tomlinson, yeah a fucking cliché.

Then I met him. Him and his green eyes. Him and his bullshit.

Him and his illness.

HARRY STYLES

19 years old

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

Personality disorder

Closed

Psychosis

Neurosis

Violence

Silence

I liked being a cliché. He ruined my life.


	3. Chapter 1

**"Sigmund Freud said, "If you want to endure life - get ready** ** to accept death."**

**I accepted death but life is still unbearable." (c) Harry.**

***

\- Aaaahhhh! Louis! – A subtle scream sounding in the room and my body collapses in a sweat on the mattress. I roll over on my back staring at the ceiling while breathing becomes normal. Damn, that was so good. Christie, Sarah, Lucy, it doesn't matter what her name was, but she was good. One more girl.

\- What time is it? - Without giving her time to answer I grabbed her wrist and looked at her watch.

\- Fuck!

3:10 pm, it is a joke? I'm getting up and running around the room looking for my clothes. I'm dressing, listening to her claims and insults.

\- I have a lecture in five minutes! Where's that damn shirt?!

\- Will you call me?

\- Don't get your hopes up.

And always the same claims that come next. I don't pay attention to. I was accustomed to that. I'm trying to style my hair, but it doesn't work, and I sigh heavily. I take my jacket, bag, and phone.

\- Asshole!

I roll my eyes, opening the door.

\- Listen, Kristen ...

\- Eleanor!

\- Yes, of course, Eleanor. It was cool, you were talented and so on, but ... It's over, I don't ... - I barely have time to bend down from a table lamp that is thrown at me. Wow, I look at her in shock. Each time, it's getting better and better. I can't keep an ironic laugh, looking around the shards of glass on the floor.- Okay, okay. Have a nice day too, - and I leave the room, hearing her screams.

***

I take a deep breath. She's crazy, and I can't stop laughing before looking at my phone. 3:18 pm.

\- Damn!

I had no choice besides to run. Studies started 3 weeks ago, and I've never come on time. At these moments, I realize that college campus is huge, and panting, I run up to class. The door suddenly opens and someone pushes me rudely.

\- Can't be more careful?!

Get up quickly and I try to catch my breath. I could see only a mass of curly hair, disappearing in the hallway.

\- Forgot to say "sorry"?

He most likely forgot it because he didn't turn around.

\- Freak.

I adjusted my shirt and run my hand through my hair before to go into the lecture room.

\- Hey, Mr. Tomlinson has honored to please us with his presence.

I roll my eyes and sit on one of the benches. It's always the same, and I thought that college teachers were not paying attention to students but I guess when your father is the main sponsor of the university, it changes everything. Just sitting down, I pull out my Mac and log in to the campus network conversations. Listening to a lecture, almost without really interesting. New messages, new phone's numbers, insults, invitations to parties and among all this, one mail caught my attention.

_"What would you do if you had only 100 days to live?"_

No signature, no name. I go to his profile, but it's empty. No photos, no description, no information. Just an empty page with the nickname "_Anonym_."

I doubt it for a few seconds, but finally, decide to answer:

_"I don't know ... I would probably live, I guess. I would try to live"_

And I'm waiting. I stare at the screen tapping fingers on the table, but nothing, no answer.

***

12 days have passed since then and I took the stupid habit of sending daily count messages to Anonym. Silly. I never got an answer and I don't know why I do it but his question bothers me. I can't stop thinking about the tragic scenario. What if this person wants to commit suicide in 100 days? I don't get it.

«_88_»

I stare at the screen of my Mac for ten minutes, ignoring the noise of the cafeteria around. I send a message. I raise my head and see how the guy, who pushed me recently, overturned the tray on another person. He looks exasperated. Everyone looks at them. I'm too far away to hear what they are saying but it seems that everything is very tensely there.

\- Hey, dude, - Liam makes me jump. I didn't even hear him coming. I look at him before I quickly shift my attention to the scene. Mr. Curly hard pushes the poor guy (who, by the way, painfully falls to the floor) and quickly leaves the cafe.- Don't pay attention to.

\- What's wrong with him? - I finally look away from the door to look at my best friend.

\- I don't know, people say that he's crazy. Who cares? Are you going to a party tomorrow? - I catch the flyer he hands me.

\- Yep...

\- Okay! I need to go. I have class in 5 minutes. Don't want to be late again. See you late.

\- Yeah, see you.

And he was gone as quickly as he came. I wave to him, looking around the cafeteria, and I don't know why but my eyes gaze to look at the door again where Mr. I-Push-The-People disappeared.

I look around the room for a few seconds before I shake my head sharply and get out too.

***

«_71_»

Sent. I lay on the bed with a laptop on my stomach, I scroll all my messages and reviewing the numbers. I lost all of my hope of getting any answer and I am just thinking about to turn off the computer when there is a new message notification. I wide my eyes open. I can't believe it. He or she finally answered. I take a comfortable position and hesitate for a few seconds before clicking to view. As if I had waited too long and that I refused to believe that now I had an answer. I finally open it:

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Countdown"_

_"Why?"_

_"What will happen after 100 days? More accurately after 71?"_

_"Nothing"_

I look at the screen like an idiot and I don't know what to say. First, I want to insult him. I've been writing to him for 29 days. I waited 29 days for an answer, and all that he said to me is "_nothing_"?! I won’t give up so easily. But before I could come up with an answer, he goes out of the network.

\- Shit!

Angrily I throw the computer on the floor and turn off the light. I won't leave it so easy.

***

A pen on my ear and books in my hands I walk into the library, looking for a place and cursing myself internally for not stayed to work in my room. Almost all of the seats are occupied. I have a choice whether to sit with the blonde's who chewing gum and making bubbles every ten seconds or with Mr. I-Destroy-The-World who is sitting alone at a table reading with enthusiasm. I doubt a few seconds, I really need to work and Miss Universe may distract me. I let out an exasperated sigh and let myself sink into the chair opposite him.

\- Hi.

No reaction, he did not even look up from his book. Okay, so we revert to politeness. I'm going to unpack my books and begin to work. Labor Law, there is nothing more boring. I can't help but squint at him, he seems attracted by the enormous book he is reading. How has he done that? I just read three pages and I have a headache. I breathe loudly but still nothing, he stays focused on reading or he literally ignores me. I'm back to work, my fingers playing with my pen tapping on the table despairing. Feeling a slight movement in front of me I look up to him and although his head is still down I can guess his gaze landed on my hand. I raise an eyebrow; I believe that he has to be capable of having a reaction. It amuses me. I fix it by continuing to shake my pen. He clenches his teeth.

\- Any problems?

Once again he didn't answer me or even look at me. He gets up, closes his book. I can't believe I'm watching him walk away. This guy has serious problems.

**"Asshole." – Harry **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for grammatic errors. luv.


	4. Chapter 2

**"Gandhi said: "The greatness and value of the nation can be judged by how it treats animals".**

**This nation cost nothing and has no values. It makes me sick." (c) Harry**

** **

***

_"66"_

_"Stop it"_

_"I stop if you tell me what will happen"_

_"I also tell you. Nothing"_

_"Who are you?"_

_"Never mind"_

_"You know, who I am. But who you are, I have no idea. It's unfair"_

_"I never asked you to talk to me"_

_"Why you asked me about this"_

_"..."_

_"You just don't answer? I see that you (he or she) still connected"_

_"He"_

_"So you're a boy"_

_"Yes"_

\- Louis? – I'm rereading our brief conversation with Anonym, which is happening four days ago. Then I didn't have time to answer anything, as he left the site. – Louis, - He answered me for the second time, and then immediately disappeared. I just sent him a count of days – _"62"_.

\- LOUIS! – I jump up and close my Mac, before I raise my head to Eleanor, which, by the way, looks very annoyed.

\- What?

\- I'm also talking to you, let me think, 5 minutes, but you, how I can see, don't care!

I doubt, is it worth answering, because the answer is she won't like it. By the way, I don't even know why I sit with her now. Although, she'd quite good arguments at the club toilet last week. Well, or her mouth and tongue had good arguments. I put my computer in the bag and sigh heavily and finally I take my burger.

-Is that, all you're eating? - I can't hold a question by looking at three pieces of raw carrots on her plate.

\- Yes, - she shrugs, and I'm rolling my eyes.

\- Hey, you two, - on the next site's falling Liam, friendly pushing me in the shoulder. – Wow, be careful don't choke. – He points to Eleanor's plate, and I quickly bite the burger to hold back laughter. – Are you on a diet?

\- Not, I watch my figure.

\- What're you watching? For the fact as you gonna lose bones? – And it's become stronger than me, I can't resist looking at her surprised face, and I start laughing hysterically.

Quietly coughing and to pass myself off as a gentleman, I decide to intervene.

\- All Liam leave her alone, - As it turned out, a big smile on my face betrayed me, and my best friend decided to change the subject. He gives me another invitation.

\- THIS IS going to be the party of the century! – I look at the paper before I answer.

\- I can't this weekend. I need to go to parents.

\- Hey, no! You can't do this to me, move it to another day.

\- No, Liam. You know my father, and this weekend he wants to play golf like "a father and son".

He doesn't insist, all the same, our dads are partners, best friends and incidentally the same two assholes. He knows what I risk if I don't go.

***

_"59"._

I stare at the screen. Fingers nervously knock on the table. It's 3 am and I still can't sleep. I don't understand why this story bothers me. It's the guy after all. But something about him intrigues me or maybe it's the fact of never having the answer that frustrates me. I turn my head to Eleanor, who's looking at me through her sleepy eyelids.

\- What are you doing?

\- Nothing, sleep, - I close the laptop and put it on the floor, before turning back to her and sleep.

***

I'm sitting on one of the benches in the audience, we've been having an hour of debate about the love story of Verlaine and Rimbaud. If it goes on and on, then I'll soon have a migraine.

\- With which word would you describe this story?

I'm rolling my eyes and listening illegible answers: "Homosexuality, Destruction, Desire..." Blah, blah, blah... It seems that even the professor is boring, he is sitting at his big desk and looks at us all with dull eyes. No more answers because they're probably no longer interested.

\- Blackmail – hoarse voice pierces the silence, and professor looking surprised considering the audience.

\- Mr. Styles, I'm listening, - he even scratched his chin with interest.

I turn in the same direction and see Mr. I-pull-all-I-can-I-never-apologize. He sits a few rows from me and pulls in his fingers the handle. Everybody is looking at him. And he doesn't seem to care. No one else speaks, no one moves. All as if frozen in anticipation of something. This isn't surprising, because this is the first time he spoke. I didn't even know that he goes to lectures. Finally, he raises his head and looks at the teacher. He really doesn't care that his center of attention.

\- Emotional blackmail. This is the best word to describe their history, especially Verlaine. He totally flipped out.

He straightens up and after only a few seconds dropped his gaze on me. I froze, fuck, how eyes can be so green? He turns to look at the professor again.

\- Between July 4th and 10th 1873, he threatened to Matilda, he would kill himself if she does not return. But he fell in his own trap. July 8th, he received a letter from Rimbaud, who threatened him. He ends their relationship and goes to the army. Their whole story is based on the emotional blackmail and prompted Verlaine to shoot Rimbaud a few days later.

I turn my head to the professor, who looks very confoundedly. He clears his throat and straightens shirt collar.

\- That's right, Mr. Styles. This is a very good option.

A teacher tries to remain calm, but he fails. I turn my head toward him, but he just shrugs and immerses in reading his big book. Like he hadn't just shut the whole audience up, like if 150 pairs of eyes didn't give him the slightest discomfort like he just didn't rub his nose in an idiot-professor who calls himself a PhD. I don't understand anything, and it seems I'm not alone. All around whispering, but he... But he doesn't care. He's interested in reading. What the hell kind of planet is this guy from?

***

\- Were the lectures interesting? Did you meet a girl?

\- _"56"_

Send.

\- Louis William Tomlinson! – I'm blocking the screen and hiding the phone in my pocket, before looking up at my mother.

\- Excuse me?

\- Louis, could you at least show some more respect and listen to when your mother is talking to you?

I turn to my father and make a big effort to not roll my eyes. Always the same. Every Sunday of the month I have to play the role of an ideal son. I remove my elbows from the table and pull the smile.

\- Sorry, Mom. I'm a little distracted right now. What are you talking about?

She wipes her mouth with a napkin and takes a sip of her tea.

\- Did you meet a girl?

Ah, here it begins. Dinner on the veranda and the same question again and again. I'm fighting the temptation to tell her that I didn't meet a girl because I already have a slut who is can suck. Imagine what hysterics she'll throw at her psychologist. Holding back a smirk and sigh heavily.

\- Mom, I'm just 21 years old. I still have time to meet someone.

And she's acting like a resentful mom again. This woman wants grandchildren before she grows old as if it would take away her joy. And once again she tells me about her friend's daughters who are desperately trying to get my attention, and which, according to her, "will be wonderful wives". My father was reading the newspaper and only sometimes nods. Usually, it ends here. I kiss my mom on the cheek, shake the hand of the father, they leave me alone for three weeks and I go back to campus with a huge check in my pocket. But not today. Today dad planned golf. I explain: he had a claim to me.

***

My mother is lying on the grass a few meters away from us, and reading a secular journal in her big hat and sunglasses. She's waving at me and smiling radiantly.

I answer her same and I turn to my father who just hit the ball in the hole.

\- Good punch, - I'm standing at his place and putting the ball.

\- The rector of the university called me this week.

Here we go. He didn't last long. I sigh.

\- What did he say?

\- That you're missing a lot of classes, and the ones you come to, you're always late.

I'm watching as the ball flies past the hole. I sigh once again. The day will be long, very long. I almost don't get the ball into any holes and silently listen to all his claims. I'm don't even trying to defend myself. I'm the son of the main sponsor of the university, I wouldn't want to get my father's reputation dirty and disgrace his name. Rate my sarcasm.

Time goes even slower than I expected. Once again, I promise to behave better, and finally, they let me go.

***

It's almost night when I get in the car. It's pouring rain, and I sing along to the radio, banging on the steering wheel. _(It Is What It Is – Lifehouse)_ I take the caller iPhone and pinch between the shoulder and ear. It's Liam, and we start our usual conversation. He wants a full report of my day. I laugh at him when I learned that his father had called him the next weekend. Each, in turn, man. He tells me about the party which I missed.

\- Fuck!

I drop my phone and sharply brake. The dog jumped from somewhere. Wheels slide on the road because of the rain and I cannot normally stop. The body is shaking from shock, and heart's beating a hundred beats per second. I hear Liam's screaming into the phone, asking what had happened, but I don't pay attention and get out of the car. All wet, I notice a dog lying in the middle of the road. Damn, damn and damn! I come closer and my shock fades into the background. I'm leaning toward the poor mongrel. It's huge. It's still alive and whines. Devil. I'm spending the hand on hair. If I put it in the salon, the dog will ruin all of the seats. I don't know what to do. Ahh, damn it! Pisses me off! But I can't leave her here!

\- Everything's ok, come here.

I lift it and carry it to the car. Damn, she's so heavy. I'm opening the trunk, put it there and sit behind the wheel. I hope she won't die in my car.

The rain intensifies several times when I park at the night veterinary clinic. I barely have time to open the door, as Mr. I-know-all-about-Verlaine-and-Rimbaud runs out of the office. I'm hallucinating? What's he doing here? I breathe deeply.

\- I... I was driving and she ran out of nowhere... I couldn't stop...

I'm opening the trunk. He looks at me for a few seconds, before he's taking her up and bringing her inside. I don't ask a lot of questions and run after him. He has put the dog on the metal table and began to look for something in the boxes. And I'm, like an idiot, standing in the corner and don't know what to do. Who is he? In addition to the asocial jerk and the main lover of literature, now he is also a trainee-veterinarian?

\- Everything will be okay, sweetheart.

\- Sure it wills, I'm ok...

I raise my head and see how he leaned over the dog and stroked it soothingly. Oh, he's talking to her? Well, now I feel even more like an idiot. He focuses on the animal again, and I continue to keep silent. He's groping all her muscles and muttering sweet words as if he wants to calm her down. So with people he behaves like the last psychopath and with animals... he is gentle?

\- Careful, this is going to hurt.

\- W-what?

He wasn't talking to me again. He dramatically pulls back the hind paw, and the dog whines like a dying.

\- What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?

He completely ignores me and continues to stroke the dog.

\- That's all.

I look at him in shock, and when the dog stops whining, he (finally) looks at me.

\- She had paw twisted, I had to straighten it.

Oh. I don't know what to say, but he seems to not wait for a response. Once again, he looks away from me and makes the dog a shot in the neck.

\- Who are you? Intern?

\- No.

\- Is she going to be all right?

\- Yes.

I clench my teeth, he really pisses me off with such answers. It's the second time when he raises the already sleeping dog and carries it to the basket. I can't understand does he know he's drenched? He's only wearing a white T-shirt and he's not even trembling, and I'm about to die of cold in my coat and sweater. He's sitting down at the basket, I can't see what he's doing, but he seems to really don't care about my presence here. I'm standing in the middle of the room and looking at him, not knowing whether I should stay or go. In the end, he solves the problem himself and turns to me.

\- Why are you still here?

Well, at least, he's honest.

\- I... I don't know. I need to fill the paper or something? – Now I feel like the biggest idiot of all idiots. His gaze confuses me. – I...

\- You hit a dog because you can't drive?

It was rude, and my pride is hurt. Who does he think he is? I look up at him and give him an angry look.

-Fuck you.

And he doesn't care. He shrugs and turns away. Don't tell me that he had literally ignored me! It looks like that. He ignores me. He doesn't turn his head even when I'm out there. While going to the car, I look through the glass and realize that he was doing it all the time. He petted the dog. He's sitting on the floor and petting a dog. Sharply I open a door and rush from there. I can't stop looking in the rearview mirror. No, seriously, what's wrong with him?

**"Come on, go away." (c) Harry.**


	5. Chapter 3

**"I have this constant need to always destroy boundaries, whether they are physical or emotional. I need to know that no one needs me, and I need to feel the danger, to remind myself that I'm still alive.**

**Life has no value unless we not risk losing it." (c) Harry**

***

\- Oh, fuck... - and I bite my lip, pulling Eleanor's hair, to speed up the rhythm. I'm pushing my hips and lean my free hand on the shelf behind me. I tried again to tell her that she's just a girl for the night, that she pisses me off, and in the end I find myself pressed against the wall while she does something inhuman with her tongue. I can't stop groaning and literally explode in her mouth.

\- Damn you, El.

Panting, I look down and see her still standing on her knees in front of me, she wipes her mouth and smiles smugly. This girl is manipulating me through sex, and every time I'm led. I almost have time to pull the boxes as the closet door opens, and a pair of green eyes looking at me in surprise. His gaze paralyzed me that I can't even think of him some ridiculous nickname. He looks very angry, and I begin to understand why people are so afraid of it. His eyes are so piercing that even Eleanor seems to have forgotten how to breathe. Although this is was didn't last more than ten seconds. Ten seconds, he didn't take his eyes away from me. Ten seconds, his eyes literally burning through me, and then he left. Just like that. He slams the door and leaves without a word. And I'm totally shocked.

\- What was that? – Eleanor's voice brings me back from my mind, and when she gets up, and I get the strangest feeling in the world. I am angry at her.

\- Fuck off.

And I'm out of the closet, having only buttoned pants and slam the door too.

***

\- He's sexy.

\- But this guy has a problem with his head, look at him.

\- Yes, but he's hot, and I wouldn't mind...

\- Hey, girls, what are you talking about? – I and Liam put our trays in the table, I sit down next to Eleanor and Daniel kissed Liam. Something new. I turn my head and see how El reached for a kiss. Oh no, sleep together – it's okay, but to play a couple in love – it's too much. So she answered to Liam, whose mouth free again.

\- About Styles – and she shows in the Mr. I-burn-in-people-a-hole-by-gaze which sits alone with a can of Coca-Cola in his hand. – I think that he's pretty good in bed.

\- Yep, crazy people, actually quite good in this way.

Liam eats, and the girls again begin a conversation, which I didn't pay attention to. I look at him and frown. He each time with one and the same huge book, interestingly, that in it such a?

\- Do you remember his ex-girlfriend? What her name was...

\- Sarah?

\- No...Um, Samantha!

\- Yeah, right, Samantha. People say that she had to leave the university because he turned her life into hell!

And then I became interested in the conversation and looking at Daniel.

\- What do you want to say?

She leans forward and inspects the room, like a guy who sits ten meters away from us, could be able to hear.

\- He raped a girl.

Eleanor interrupted her.

\- What are you talking about?! He didn't rape her but stalked.

She drinks her orange juice, and I'm struggling with the desire to give her a good slap in the face, in order to she continued to talk. She slowly puts her glass on the table (is she kidding?!). Shit, she pisses me off. She says a mysterious voice as if telling the urban legend.

\- He walked everywhere for her, send her a ton of messages, he always called her. The poor girl was forced to change the university.

Liam literally explodes with laughter.

\- What kind of nonsense?

Girls shrug.

\- That's what people say.

They changed the subject for a long time ago, and I still continue to look at him. As if he felt he raises his eyes to me, and I quickly turn my head, pretending to be interested in the conversation. I girth Eleanor's shoulders, and when I want to see him again, he was gone. There was only a half-empty can of Coca-Cola.

***

After 17 days without a single sign of life, a part of me has already lost any hope to get any response. But I can't send him to stop the count.

_"49"_

Click on the "send", throwing the bag on the floor and go to the shower. I have stopped waiting in front of the screen as the last idiot. However, I have a strange feeling today. 49. More than half the days expired. I try not to think about it. Football training was hard, the coach puts pressure on us with the upcoming match, in his opinion that we aren't ready.

***

\- Damn it, fuck it!

I have already half an hour working on my thesis on philosophy. After a shower, I put on some boxers and went to bed, engrossed in a book. Nervously knock pencil on my textbook for ten minutes, but nothing happened, in front of me is still an empty page, and I'm just going crazy. The corner of my eye I'm looking at standing next to the Mac. There is still open Anonym's page.

I throw out a pencil, he's so useless now, and I can't write even a single line. I'm putting a computer in the stomach and send a message:

_"I hate philosophy."_

I do this for the first time. For the first time I send two emails on the same day, never received a reply. I don't know why I did it, incredibly stupid of me, because he still didn't respond.

It should be noted that this guy knows how to surprise. I don't ever turn my head as I receive a new message. I can't believe it.

_"What's your theme?"_

Is he kidding at me? Two weeks of silence and now he just simply answers me? I send a minor sentence, and he responds. I don't know what I should be happy or angry.

_"Is freedom an illusion?"_

_"Plato, Descartes, Spinoza"_

_"What?"_

_"Use them. Plato proved the difference between free and implementation of all desires. Descartes described the exact value of freedom, which connects man and God, and Spinoza said that existence doesn't necessarily include human freedom."_

Then I literally stopped breathing. And the worst thing that he replies to me in less than a minute as if it was the most usual thing in the world like it's as normal as consider or watch the time.

_"Others will be spinning around the fact that a person chooses his freedom. But you must be based on people who think they don't deserve to be free. That's more interesting."_

Understood, he didn't even give me time to answer and decided just to kill me. I look very stupid in comparison with him. We start talking, exactly, he says and I write. He asks my opinion, asks questions and never puts himself above me. I tell him about my views, which are often quite absurd. When they are more or less tolerable, he only slightly corrects them, and when I'm one hundred percent wrong, then he explains to me why, but every time he praises me. With this approach, I don't feel so much stupid in front of his knowledge. And he definitely has them.

After three hours, I have finished a dissertation on the illusion of freedom, and I didn't even notice how fast time flew. I even liked it, even though I always hated philosophy.

_"Thank you very much, without you I couldn't have done it."_

_"You're welcome"_

I hold my hand above the keyboard and thinking about should I write more. We talked for over three hours, and I still don't know anything about him. We only spoke on the subject of philosophy... I nervously bite my lips for a few seconds.

_"Can I know your name?"_

_"No."_

And he goes out of the network.

\- Damn it! – I'm pushing the Mac on the floor. I can only be angry at myself. I'm clenching my teeth from my own stupidity.

***

Music rings in the ears, disgusting toilet in the club, and blonde, which I pressed against the cabin, don't stop moaning. I don't drink, but my head still hurts. She scratches my back, and I accelerate the rhythm. The faster I move the more she screams. I keep myself in hands, but her screams knock on the head. I close my hand over her mouth so she finally shut up. No, I don't keep myself in hand. She pisses me off. Already three days. Since the Anonym got out of the network. Since that time he hasn't answer me anymore. I still send him a count. 46. Maybe I to add something else? Damn, what's wrong with me? I with the girl right now and I shouldn't think about him. I clench my teeth, harder pushing hips, and she screams even more. Fuck. I can't help it, he's still in my mind. I pull myself out of her without warning.

\- What are doi...

\- Shut up.

And barely giving her time to lower her skirt and pushed her out of the cab. I'm ignoring her insult and close the door. I lean against the wall and cover my face with hands. What's wrong with me? I lower my eyes to the dirty floor before to pull my boxers with pants and also out. I'm not even used to push the girls in the closet. Nerves on edge. I'm pulling the iPhone out of my pocket and check my email. Nothing. I need to get out of here. Away from the music, the heat, the smell... All annoys me now!

***

My phone is dead, and it pisses me off even more. I splash out all my anger on the gas pedal. I'm driving at full speed, I need to sleep. Tomorrow everything will be better. I'll take it out of my head. It must be the fatigue, the stress before the lectures and... And I've never come up with a stupider excuse. I'm passing the bridge and look out the window.

\- What the...

I notice standing on the edge of the silhouette. He stands on a ledge ten meters wide, his arms extended to the different side. He looks down at the highway. I'm slowing down.

\- What the hell.

Please tell me this is a dream. Him again! He walks a few inches off a cliff. Come on, what he is doing?! I stop at the side of the road and heading toward him, he stands with his back to me. And let this not the best that can be done in such a situation, after all, he can twitch and fall, I without hesitation starting yelling.

\- Fuck, can you explain to me, what are you doing?!

I'm lucky he's not twitching. Conversely, he stands quite a long time with his arms extended to the different side before slowly turning to me, and even though it's night outside, I notice that his eyes are closed. He seems perfectly calm. Well, of course, he's not on the verge of a fatal fall. Oh, wait. That's exactly what he's doing! He opens his eyes and looks at me. I'm still shocked and scared as hell. One wrong move and he's dead. I shiver and try to speak calmly.

\- Get down from there, for God's sake.

He looks at me and turns his head into the void. I think I'm gonna throw up. He should be dizzy, not me! And without further ado, he lowers his hands and jumps with a slight movement, landing on solid ground. It's already stronger than me, I'm again starting to yell.

\- What the hell, are you crazy?! Do you want to smear yourself on the pavement?! What in God's name is wrong with you?!

It took me a while to realize how close I went to him. We're less than a meter apart, and he starts smiling. Is he serious? Is he actually smiling? I'm clenching my fists.

\- Can I know what makes you smile? 

He shrugs.

\- You.

And here I don't know what to say. A few minutes ago, he was standing on the edge of precipice thirty meters long, and I'll make him smile. I think I'm going to explode.

\- Are you kidding?

\- No, what makes you think like this?

He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one. He hands it to me, but I ignore his gesture.

\- What makes me think like this?! You dare ask me, what makes me think like this?!

It drags on and slowly lets out smoke before answering. Is he deliberately provoking me?

\- You asked me if I was kidding, I'm not. That's why I'm asking what makes you think like this.

Until me, it comes. It's not a provocation, he's serious. In his voice no hint of mockery, but in his eyes, there was any trace of coarseness. He just asks. Not really understanding why I thought he was mocking me. Again, I don't know what to say, and he turns back to me and starts to leave. I explode. Well, no. He can't get away with it.

\- You were one step away from wh.. — but he's interrupting me with his calmest tone.

\- I wasn't going to jump.

Mine's practically hysterical. And the fact that he's standing with his back to me like nothing happened makes me even angrier.

\- No, you're kidding?! You stood on the brink of the precipice! What's your problem? - maybe it was too rude because he stops abruptly.

\- Are you scared?

\- What?

I barely heard his whisper. He turns slowly and looks me straight in the eye. I don't understand what influenced me — whether it was the color of his eyes (which looked gray in the moonlight) or his innocent expression — but all my anger quickly evaporated. It seems to me that he wants to look not at me, but inside me. Interestingly, he understands how this view is confusing?

\- Are you scared?

I didn't hear anything, I was so keen on his eyes, asking himself how he can remain so calm when I yell at him like the last hysterical. It feels like nothing can hurt him. So I just answer:

\- Yes.

Because, yes. I was scared to see him on the verge of death. Anyone would be scared if they were me. But he is silent, not averting his eyes. Once again it is tightened and continues to go. What's he up to again?

\- Where are you going?

\- Homeward.

Well certainly. And why didn't I think that after an innocent suicide game, he was walking home like it was his usual evening ritual? As if all the people in the evenings with arms outstretched standing on the bridges.

I'm standing there with my mouth half-open, no reaction. I watch him disappear, and I realize I just had the strangest moment of my life.

***

\- Mr. Tomlinson?

The audience is almost empty when he calls me. I pull on a fake smile and turn around. What again? I go to the Professor's desk and sit in the opposite seat while he hands me my thesis.

\- Congratulations, Mr. Tomlinson.

Um, what? It's the first time I've been congratulated by teachers, and I don't even know how to react. He looks at me strangely.

\- Did you make it yourself?

I'm uncomfortable. I spend the hand on the back of the head.

\- Yeah... What's wrong?

A slight smile appears on his lips. This man never smiles. He definitely doesn't believe me. He looks at me with this strange look and does not make any more comments. He congratulates again, and I'm going out of the audience, completely not understanding anything. Again.

***

**"Harry, my name is Harry." (c) Harry**


	6. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks to everyone for your comments. I like... continue. This work has 3 tomes. And I already translated 1 of them on Wattpad and i'll try to put it here as soon as I can. love xxx

**"Milan Kundera said: "In the game hasn't freedom. For the player, the game is a trap."**

**I don't want to be in a trap. If it's losing, then you thought about what will be the victory? I'll want to play with you. Now the question is, do you want to win or lose?" (c) Harry**

***

Final whistle – and I'm falling. With closed eyes, I land on the grass with my knees and spread my hands. With hair dripping sweat and a t-shirt stuck to the body. I scored a fucking goal. For ten seconds to the end. I hit so hard I almost twisted my leg. The goalkeeper didn't have time to catch, and I scored. I scored. 4-3. We had won, and I hear hysterical cries around me. I'm slowly recovering my breath. The whole campus is in the stands. My body is shaking with adrenaline, we won the first match of the season. I get up and turn around. I'm looking for my father from the edge of the field. He claps in his hands as proud as the coach. The other players are running towards me and I notice two eyes are stared at me. Green eyes. At the entrance to the locker room. I hear only the beating of my heart. And in less than a second, I'm surrounded by players, and he's gone. The outside world exists again, and I'm raised on shoulders. Euphoria. We had won.

The locker room is in chaos. We change clothes, we scream, we sing. Guys pat me on the shoulder. I'm the star of the day and I love it. I scored three goals out of four, including winning. I take off my t-shirt and the captain's bandage when the team coach calls me.

\- Well played, Tomlinson.

And again, congratulations. Even my father, who came with him, praised me, and this doesn't happen every day. We talk for a few minutes. About the score, the tactics, the next match, and eventually the locker room is empty, and I'm the last one to shower. I'm wrapping the towel around my waist and tousling my hair, coming back to the locker. A paper folded in two protrudes from the metal door.

_"Congratulate. – H"_

I'm looking around. Nobody is here. I'm alone.

***

Party on occasion victory takes place at the guy from the team. We couldn't drink for a week because of the upcoming match. So now everyone is trying to catch up, and beer disappears before our eyes. I cannot step not a step, without having received in the party of a smile, winking, and congratulation. Eleanor, it's proud wears my jacket of the captain. Red plastic glasses of vodka are devastated. We're dancing, drinking, playing. The rooms are occupied, and even the stupidest know what they do there.

\- I told you! He tied it to the battery, and then he took off.

\- Handcuff!

\- Are you sure?

Three girls chatting in the hallway and I start laughing. I shake my head a little, not to show you how drunk I am.

\- Styles is sick!

What? From just one name I stop behind them. Leaning against the wall, pulling the phone so they think I send SMS, not eavesdropping on a conversation.

\- This guy stayed chained all day, completely naked before he let him out.

I don't know if it's the alcohol, but I'm sweating cold. Some totally drunk girl pushes me to the toilet, and I shudder, releasing my glass of vodka to the floor. I go to the others sitting on the couch in the living room. I think I may too drunk or tired after the match... The music is too loud, they're too many people, voices, laughter, and it all gives me a headache. I'm hot and my head is spinning more and more.

\- I'm out of here.

Liam's looking up at me.

\- What's wrong, dude?

\- No, no, everything's all right. Just have a headache.

I'm leaning over to Eleanor to get my jacket. Because this is my jacket. I don't like her wearing it. As soon as I'm going to filch it off, she pulls a piece of paper out of my pocket.

\- Congratulations from someone "H"! Oh, our Louis has a secret admirer!

And she's laughing, spilling half the contents of his glass on my jacket. I'm clenching my fists. She's too drunk, and I snatch the note out of her hand.

\- Shut up, El.

And she laughs again, and I want to punch her so bad. I take my things and leave without saying a word.

A taxi's dropping me off in front of the University. When I get to my room, I barely spend time to take my clothes off. I flop on the bed and immediately fall asleep.

I'm handcuffed to a battery. I'm naked and I'm cold. His green eyes are continually looking at me. The handcuff is rubbing my wrists, I'm struggling, but he doesn't care. He sits and looks at me in his gray t-shirt. I yell at him, blowing my voice. I ask him to let me go, but he won't listen. Doesn't move and then whispers:

\- You belong to me, Louis.

I wake up in a cold sweat and shudder abruptly. I can't breathe, the lights are still on and I turn my head to the alarm clock. 4:02. I fall heavily on the mattress. I breathing, it was just a bad dream. I lie and look at the ceiling. Having calmed down, I take out a note from a pocket, once again I reread it:

_"Congratulate. – H"_

My Mac's lying on the bed showing the last email sent to Anonym (which he certainly didn't reply to).

_"42"_

I close the tab and, still holding a piece of paper, go to the University website. I'm finding the section "List of students". I know what I'm looking for, and I'm sure I already know the answer. I think I need to see it with my own eyes to make completely sure. I enter his last name in the search, the result appears in less than three seconds.

_"Harry Styles. Psychological faculty"_

H – like Harry. I have long suspected but still experienced a great shock. This is odd. I'm researching his profile, but there's nothing else besides his date of birth. Sections with old school, hobbies, dreams and all the other, useless things that they ask us to fill in the admission – are empty. He didn't fill anything, absolutely. Not even a room number, which is actually a must. This guy is one big mystery. And that makes me even scarier.

***

I've been in the library for two hours. I have a terrible headache, and I've done absolutely nothing in all that time. I'm never gonna finish this thesis. I need to rest and get some fresh air. I'll finish it later. I'm already getting ready to go out, as I see him at the table a few meters from me. I'm not even trying to give him a nickname. Hand involuntarily slips into the jacket pocket, groping for a note. I stand motionless for a few seconds before I approach and throw her on the table.

\- Can you explain?

My voice trembles. He looks at the paper a few seconds before shifting his attention to his book by shrugging his shoulders.

\- I just wanted to congratulate you.

And that's all?! I'm furious, I throw a note at him, and he shrugs? He didn't even bother to look at me! Didn't even ask how I knew he'd left her. No. Not this time. I'm not gonna leave you alone so easy.

\- Why?

The voice is shaking even more. And yet he looks up at me.

\- What "why"?

\- Why did you want to congratulate me?

\- You deserved it.

He has a gift for speaking so naturally that it confuses me. I played well, and, accordingly, he congratulates me. And I feel like an idiot again. Such an idiot I can't even pull myself together. I don't want to lose again.

\- And that's why you left a note in my locker?

He shrugs again.

\- Yes.

Again immersed in reading his huge book, and it comes to me that I played with myself. And have lost. After all, he did not even start playing and did not challenge me. He just wanted to congratulate me, and he did it his way. I don't understand him, and it makes me angry. I look ridiculous.

Putting my hands in my pockets, I sit down on a chair opposite him. I stare at him, he understands it, but it doesn't seem to bother concerned him.

\- What are you reading?

Without looking up, he shows me the book "Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde". All right. Grim story.

\- Interesting?

\- Yes.

He keeps reading. And I ask myself: does he just not know what to say, or does he behave like this on purpose? I keep staring at him. I'm waiting for his reaction. This is a matter of principle, I'm not used to such a rigid disregard. I mean most of the time, I don't leave people indifferent, but he seems to be the exception. It's as if nothing can hurt or destabilize him. He reads the pages upside down like I'm not here. He eventually looks up at me.

\- What do you want?

His question puts me in an awkward position because I don't really know what I want. I don't know why I'm sitting here looking at him. I don't know why I kept the note. I don't know why I pay attention to rumors. But he worries me. Something about him intrigues me. But I'd rather die than admit it. This time I decide not to break eye contact. My pride has suffered enough.

\- Are you always such?

He frowns.

\- What do you mean?

\- Always so strange.

I see his green eyes turning dark. I feel like I hit a sensitive spot and he the first lowers his eyes.

\- I'm not strange.

By his voice, I understand that I didn't just touch a sensitive spot. I offended him. But instead of cheering about winning, I feel worse. I can't stop acting like such an asshole. I need to make up for all the times he made me look like an idiot.

\- No, you're strange.

The words just flew from my lips as I realized that I had gone too far. I'm waiting for his reply. He looks at the door, and I see him clenching his teeth. I remember his hateful look in the pantry or when he pushed that poor guy in the cafeteria. Not even knowing him, I understand, he's not the type of person which you want to get mad. But I want him to get mad or hit me instead of this. He closes the book and leaves. Without a word, without a glance, just walks away. I've never felt so lousy.

***

_"Don't do that."_

_"Don't do what?"_

_"Don't ignore me like you always do. I can see you're online, but you're not answering. Only 39 days left"_

_"Can't you just forget about the damn countdown? Please."_

_"No."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I can't, and you have no right to ask me to forget about it."_

_"..."_

_"See, there you go again."_

_"I'm beginning again what?"_

_"Don't answer me."_

_"I'm answering you."_

_"Yes, but do not to my question. What happened at the end of the countdown?"_

_"Did you get a good grade for your essay?"_

_"You're not going to answer me, aren't you?"_

_"I've also told you many times. Nothing will happen."_

_"A+"_

_"Congratulate."_

_"Even Professor congratulated me."_

_"I was sure you could do it."_

_"It's thanks to you."_

_"No, it's thanks to us."_

_"You still don't want to tell me your name?"_

_"No."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because"_

_"This isn't an answer."_

_"You'll get only such"_

_"So, I'll call you Anonym."_

_"Anonym, are you serious?"_

_"Yes, and if you don't like it, tell me your name."_

_"No, I like. Good idea, it's mysterious."_

_"I don't like secrets."_

_"You lie."_

_"No."_

_"Everyone loves secrets. It's human nature. We want to achieve what we don't understand. And have something we can't have."_

_"And what do you want?"_

_"Too many things I can't get."_

And he just goes online. In the middle of a conversation, and I can't stop smiling, at least because it was. We had our first real conversation.

***

I need to go out. I'm panicking. I'm short of air. Mentally swearing Liam all the possible words and cursing myself for agreeing to this stupidity. I've been locked in the mirror room at the city festival for ten minutes. I'm claustrophobic. Really, since I was a kid. I hate confined spaces, they scare and paralyzes me. I lost the others and I can't find a way out. I get dizzy and I bump into every mirror. I'm shaking, covering in cold sweat. The further I go – the more I panic. I feel like I'm suffocating, I can't breathe. I have an asthma attack. I need to go out. I need air. I bump into another mirror and lean against it, it is difficult for me to breathe normally, and I'll now have an attack, the body trembles treacherously. It's awful.

\- Louis?

I feel how a hand's slowly landing on my shoulder and sharply turn around. His green eyes are looking right at me.

\- I... I need to go out.

I can't move. I can't breathe and talk.

\- I know, calm down.

He takes my hand and I don't mind. I'm still not capable of adequately perceiving anything. I look down at his fingers.

\- I ne-need air... I can't...

I panic and speak indistinctly.

\- Louis, Louis look at me.

But I can't listen to it I'm focused on the mirrors around us. He takes my chin to make me lift my head.

\- Look at me.

I obey and look into his eyes.

\- I need to go out.

\- I know we'll go out, calm down. Breathe easy.

He sighs and exhales with me.

\- That's it, everything all right.

His voice is calm. He takes my hands in his, and I feel his thumb soothingly stroking my palm.

\- Don't stop looking at me.

I do what he tells me. I'm looking at him.

\- Did you know that Robert Louis Stevenson's wife, the author of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story...

I don't understand what he's telling me. My head can't think straight, it seems, he goes back, not looking where he's stepping. It's harder for me to breathe, and the body is trembling even more. My eyes run in the mirrors. They want to crush me. I'm afraid.

\- Louis, look at me,

He squeezes mine hand a little to get my attention. I look up at him.

\- This book had been rewritten. His wife destroyed the original version, considering it to be complete nonsense. She burned everything, it seems, or broke up, can't remember exactly...

\- I can't...

-Robert Louis Stevenson, did you notice his middle name? His name is like you.

And he talks again. It's difficult for me to digest all the words he said: they're meaningless. I focus my attention on his eyes and fingers stroking my palm.

\- That's all.

\- W-what?

\- It's over, Louis. Everything's fine. You're outside.

I look around me and I don't see any mirrors. I'm outside and I can breathe calmly again. How is that possible? I didn't notice anything.

\- Louis!

I turn around and I see Eleanor running towards me, she looks very excited. I feel terrible, dizzy, and when I turn back to him, he's gone. My hands are hanging in the air, and I notice him getting lost in the crowd. My legs give way and I fall to the ground. I can barely hear Eleanor sitting next to me. He disappears among the rides, soft toy, and cotton candy, and I finally understand the meaning of his words. He was talking to me so I'm not panic while he led me to the exit.

***

**"I'm not strange." (c) Harry**


	7. D - 37

_"D – 37."_

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Countdown"_

_"No, I mean, why did add D? You don't usually do that. It's unaccustomed. I don't want you to write like that. It isn't necessary to change anything. Don't change anything. Don't do this, please."_

_"It's not the end of the world, I just wanted to make a difference."_

_"No, it's the end of the world, Louis. Don't change. Don't change anything else. Never do that again."_

_"I... Okay, sorry. I didn't think it was that important to you. I won't again."_

_"That's important. Do you promise me? Promise me, please. Promise me you won't do it again, that you won't change."_

_"I promise you. I swear I won't change anything. Please calm down."_

_"..."_

_"Answer me."_

_"..."_

_"Anonym?"_

_"..."_

_"I know what we will do. You'll go out for a few minutes, and then come back in, and we will pretend it never happened."_

_"..."_

_"I'll take your silence as a sign of consent."_

[Ten minutes later]

_"37"_

_"Thank you, Louis."_

_"You better?"_

_"Yes."_

***

**Because there are certain habits that become vital. Even the stupidest of them become the benchmarks by which we move forward. Three times to put the alarm to repeat in the morning before you get up. Drink only your favorite brand of coffee. Always sit at the same place at the table. Lace up the left shoe before the right. Gestures that become rituals, and if they aren't observed, everything will go wrong. All will be lost.**

**The anonym needs to count remained unchanged.**


	8. Chapter 5

**In "Othello", William Shakespeare wrote: "Jealousy – the monster that conceives and gives birth to itself."**

**He forgot to specify that it makes its way deep under the skin. Jealousy is the beginning of destruction. She makes you completely crazy. (c) Harry**

***

I can't do this. No. Oh, fuck. I feel myself a complete jerk, because for ten minutes I'm in front of the veterinary clinic, but didn't dare to get out of the car. And the worst thing is that I saw him through the glass door of the waiting room, so he saw me, too. And in the end, I don't have the most inconspicuous car in the world. Red Lamborghini cabriolet not so often drives around the streets. I'm being an asshole. Exactly, I'm an asshole. I'm tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as it might help. It's not complicated. I'm opening the door. I'm out. I'm closing the door. I'm going. I'm going inside. I'm approaching him. I'm thanking him. I'm asking why he did it. I'm thanking him again and leaving. It's easy. But probably it is not as easy as it seems, because I'm still sitting in my car. Like an idiot. I hard sigh, to be honest, I don't understand why it's so difficult for me to thanks him. And damn, I could just leave, I didn't ask him to help me, he came himself. Well, I'm starting to knock on the steering wheel again. He worries me. What happened two days ago at the festival worries me. I can't stop thinking about it. Looking through this scene in my head again and again, but I can't understand why he did it. I searched a hundred times for an excuse, but I couldn't find anyone reason why he had to come to my aid. Especially if to consider that as awfully I behaved with him. He had no reason to help me. But he did it. And where did he come from anyway? Because I thought about it too, I didn't notice him anywhere before he found me in the middle of the mirrors. But then there were a lot of people, and I didn't really peer. So, I'm going to stop knocking on the steering wheel, because I'm gonna ruin the upholstery. I'm closing my eyes, inhaling deeply and going out. Apparently, the fact that I sat in the car for fifteen minutes like the last idiot made me angry because I opened the door too abruptly. I'm going to the reception and leaning on it. His head is down to the computer, and he spoke before I could say anything.

\- Hello, Louis.

And even if he didn't raise his head to look at me, I notice his smug smirk. Okay, so he's not just going to be polite and pretend he didn't see how long I was standing in the parking lot? Now, I don't want to thank him, I don't want at all. But I can't just walk away! And, of course, I'm saying the first thought that came to my mind:

\- How is the dog?

I'm clenching my teeth. No way, seriously? "How is the dog?" is that a joke? I haven't asked anything about the dog since the night when I hit her. Nothing worse than this to think it was impossible. Mentally I swear myself, but he's smiling even wider. Well, okay, enough, I want to make him eat his damn smile.

\- Are you asking me: "How is the dog?"

Fine, he wants to humiliate me even more? I'm mad because I'm making an idiot of myself in front of him again.

\- Yes.

He's still typing on the keyboard before he turns to me. I see him trying not to laugh.

\- He's fine.

\- That's good.

He's very amused by this situation, and I'm clenching my teeth harder.

\- He was sheltered more than a month ago.

He accepts in the last words. So he doesn't just want to humiliate me, he wants to bury me alive? I seem to be helping him dig a hole.

\- Good people?

\- Yes, very good people.

\- Is he happy?

\- Yes, he's happy.

\- Okay, because I don't want him living with people who don't take good care of him.

\- They take care great of him, don't worry.

\- Do they feed him?

\- Yes, they do.

\- Has he a doghouse?

\- You're welcome, Louis.

\- What?

\- You're welcome.

And I can see in his eyes that he understood, and I silently thank him for not letting me disgrace myself even more. We look at each other, and it's weird because it's the first time I don't feel awkward. He's still smiling, but much softer. Unfortunately, the smile disappears at the moment when his pager has been called. He's looking at the screen, and I can see how changing the features of his face.

\- Damn.

He quickly jumps over the reception and looks pretty excited. I don't know why, but I ran after him. He probably didn't mind, because he held the door for me when we left. We came running into the backyard and through for a few seconds we were near to the girl's sitting on her knees and beside her lay a dog, it seems, Labrador.

\- Carla?

\- It goes wrong the puppy is in the wrong position in the womb.

\- Fuck.

\- I'll call Mark.

\- Hurry up.

I don't know what they're talking about, but they both look excited. I'm watching how the girl leaves.

\- Louis?

I turn my head to him, I'm a little lost. I'm asking myself, what I'm doing here. He's sitting across from the dog. She whines.

\- Louis, you must help me. She's about to give birth, but the puppy is in the wrong position in the womb, and she's scared. Come here.

I didn't listen to half of his words, too focused on the whining animal, but I'm doing what he told me, and I'm sitting down next. He takes my hand and puts it on the dog's belly.

\- Her name's Massy, talk to her. Calm her down and stroke her, like this – and he presses his hand on mine to show how to do it. I can't answer him because I'm going to die of fear myself. – Can you do that?

Most likely, I answered him or just nodded, because he no longer pays attention to me. He's doing... I don't know what, and honestly, I don't have the slightest desire to know. He pulls out a puppy, most likely. I'm going to faint now, because of all the blood, but I keep doing what he told me. I'm stroking her stomach, and I realize that I'm pushing the puppy out.

\- All will be well, my sweat, it's all right... - he's calming her down, says encouraging words. And thank God he's doing it because I completely forgot it was my job. To be honest, I'm not used to talking with dogs, especially with giving birth and whining. I'm shaking all over and I can't take my eyes off him. His features and focused, and his bloody hands know exactly what they're doing. His voice is soft and gentle when he talks to Massy. It works. The dog whines a lot less while I'm already preparing to panic. And suddenly she falls silent.

\- That's all.

I turn to him he holds a small blood-stained ball of wool that moves in his hands. Sweat drips from his forehead, but he smiles. He truly smiles with shiny eyes.

\- Look.

And then I realize that he speaks to me. I look down at the little puppy, and even though it's completely stupid, I also start to smile too.

\- Here we are.

I turn to see the girl coming back with Mark, and since he's wearing a white robe, I assume he's a vet. I'm translating attention to Harry, who puts the puppy on the neck of the mother, wipes hands on jeans and turns to me.

\- Louis? Louis, are you okay?

\- Yes, - well, or not really. He looks worried again. Actually, no, it's not okay, I'm gonna throw up.

\- Are you sure? You're pale.

I feel like he's helping me get up and supporting me as we go through the yard. His hand is around my waist. Don't understand anything, my head is spinning, I'm really going to pass out now.

\- Just don't faint.

\- Don't.

We're inside, I'm hot, and drops of sweat run down my neck. He puts me in a chair and leaves to fetch a glass of cold water before sitting down next to me. It got easier. I close my eyes for a while.

\- You better?

\- Yes.

I'm less dizzy and I don't feel sick anymore. I guess I'm not so pale anymore because he looks less excited, but he still keeps his eyes on me.

\- I think we'll call him Louis. Puppy is.

\- Oh, that's very funny.

But he actually said it seriously. I'm straightening up on a chair he does the same thing, getting ready to catch me if I suddenly fall.

\- Easy, you're still pale. I didn't know you couldn't stand the sight of blood, - I didn't either. – I'm sorry. And yes, Louis, thank you, - I look at him confused because I can't understand why he's thanking me. – We couldn't have saved the puppy without you. So thank you.

I don't know, he said it sincerely. I didn't do anything, except turn pale and almost faint. But I still feel proud to have helped Louis the puppy come into this world.

***

\- Oh, don't tell me it's Louis!

\- He was so sweet, wasn't he?

\- Aww, the cutest baby in the world.

I'm can't hold back and rolling my eyes while my mom and Eleanor laugh. Sunday lunch on the veranda, I can't believe I brought Eleanor here because we have nothing but sex, but she doesn't seem to want to understand. And besides, mom always asks me why I haven't found a girl, and I thought that if one time to bring her Eleanor, she'll finally leave me alone, but how I regret about it now. My mother didn't think of anything other than looking at my baby pictures, so I've been listening to them for half an hour "Oh, it's Louis", "Oh, how cute he is", "Oh, how small he is", "Oh, my God, Louis, it's you". I want to yell at them, but I'm only contending with only so false smiles that I don't understand how they can believe them. In the end, the mother decided to kill me.

\- How long have you been together?

I'm choking in my tea, and Eleanor responds instead of me.

\- Since the beginning of the school year.

And worst of all that she smiles in all thirty-two teeth, and my mother again contemptuously looking at me.

\- Why didn't you tell me, Louis?

Because we're not together, we're just fucking. But they've already started a completely different conversation, and I don't think that would be a good answer if I want to avoid a scandal. I take out my iPhone from my pocket and write to Anonym:

_"35. P.S. I'm gonna kill myself."_

_"Why?"_

_"Mom pulled out my baby photo albums to show them to my fake girlfriend."_

_"Is it so terrible?"_

_"I'm naked in all the pictures. And me there four years."_

_"I agree, it's unpleasant. Can I ask?"_

_"I'm listening"_

_"Why are you dating with Eleanor?"_

_"I'm not dating Eleanor. We just sleep together."_

_"Then next time bring your mom a rubber sex toy, this will replace the pictures."_

I can't help laughing. They look up at me in surprise. I fold the phone and pretend to be interested in their conversation.

\- Excuse me, what were you saying?

\- Eleanor told me that she is engaged in psychology and that she is very talented in this field.

The only field she is talented is a blowjob. But I think that isn't the best remark, because I already imagine the shocked face of my mother. And I'm immediately imagining her expression if I brought her a toy from a sex shop instead of the girl – she would be covered her mouth with her hand and feigned gasped. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing again.

Other than my conversation with Anonym, everything in this day was too long. Really, day was very long. The day was nasty, horrible infuriating and full of conversation about lacquers, fashion and celebrities. At ten o'clock in the evening, when we get in car, I turn on Aerosmith and I haven't any desire to talk. I've heard enough of Eleanor during the day, and if she talks again, I'll be ready to drop her off. But she seems to have a different opinion and slips her hand between my legs.

\- Louis...

I remove her arm.

\- Stop it.

\- Come on, baby...

\- Don't call me like that.

Interestingly, is she though sometimes listening to somebody? It's not the first time I've asked her not to call me that. I'm not her boyfriend, so let's she keep those crappy nicknames to ourselves.

\- Fuck, El!

I turn the steering wheel sharply and level the car. She put her hand down my pants.

\- Are completely sick?! We could have had an accident I was driving if you haven't noticed!

I'm turning my head toward her. She bites her lip and looks at me innocently, unbuttoning the buttons of her blouse. And I think, not whether to hit her, despite the fact that I never beat girls, or maybe stop on the side of the road.

\- Come on, Louis. Let me take care of you.

And I, of course, stop on the side of the road, because she won again.

When I go out to the University parking lot, it's almost midnight. After I drove Eleanor home fifteen minutes ago, I keep berating myself for doing it again. I scold myself for the fact that I cannot get rid of her. And it all comes down to sex. After all, she always gets what she wants in the end, for example, my jacket of captain. Damn, she left with her again. Sharply closing a door, here is now realistically it's a shame, this mine jacket! By the way, it seems I'm not alone on the nerves. Turning around, I see Styles is (it should be noted that I no longer come up with him nicknames), quickly going the parking lot ten meters from me.

He's heading for a huge black Range Rover. Whoa, he's barely standing on his feet and he's going to drive? I hope this is a joke. I run up to him, and he stops abruptly, seeing me, although he had no choice, because I blocked his way. I'm not mistaken, he smells of alcohol.

\- Don't tell me you're going to drive?

He looks at me angrily.

\- Go away from here.

Okay, he's very angry. But I don't care if he will drive in such condition, it's not gonna end good. Realizing that I'm not going to move, he pushes me and opens the door.

\- Fuck, it's not funny you can't drive in such condition.

But he doesn't listen, and I do probably the stupidest thing in my life, I'm going around his SUV and sitting down on the passenger seat. I can see how he squeezes the steering wheel to white in the knuckles, continuously looking at the road. Every muscle in his body is very tense he's not angry and just beside himself. His cheekbones are tight and he's clenching his teeth.

\- Get out.

\- No.

\- Get out. Of. My. Car.

\- No.

His voice is cold, and he speaks every word clearly. Will, he hit me or not? It seems, that there is no, and he again continues to look before himself. If he thinks ignoring me will make me come away, he's wrong.

\- Fine.

And before I have time to react or just fasten the belt, he presses sharply on the gas, going to the track. Barely have time to lean his hand on the window as he turns, adding speed.

\- Are you completely crazy?!

He cuts off almost all passing cars, which only dissatisfied honking in order to avoid a collision.

\- Fuck, stops it! You kill us! – I'm holding on to the handle hanging on top. – Don't act like an asshole! Stop!

And he turns around so fast again, I'm hitting my head on the seat, hearing the screaming driver behind the car.

\- Go out.

I'm too shocked to answer or just move. I'm shaking. I see a man in the back getting out of his car, clenching his fists. I told you it wouldn't end well. He knocks on the glass shouting loudly. Only here is Harry absolutely all the same. He's finally turning to me.

\- Get out.

\- No.

If I get out, he – in his condition – will ruin himself and his car. My heart is about to explode. The blood freezes in the veins and the guy on the street yell even harder, but Harry still doesn't care. I'm not even sure if he can hear. We look at each other, and when he realizes I won't look away, he clenches his teeth. His eyes become darker, and he presses the gas with all his anger, leaving the man in hysterics in the middle of the road. I squeeze back against the seat he drove all the traffic lights, cuts off all the machines.

\- You're gonna kill us both! Damn, stop!

I think I totally pissed him off. It turns so sharply that I can't help but scream when some truck really crashes into us. He stops at the side of the road, and this time I don't even have time to understand how my head hits on the side window. Because of the pain, I don't notice him is getting out, walking around the car, opening my door and throwing me to the ground. I'm falling with pain. I'm raising my head to him he stands over me and burning me with a glance. I see him clenching his fists even harder.

\- When I tell you to get out of my car, you must get out of my car.

Okay, he's gonna hit me right now. And even if I don't touch to him, I can feel how he is shaking with anger. Still in shock, can't move or stand up, so just lying on the ground, waiting for the impact, but nothing happens. He has a few seconds' looks at me and goes. He just gets in his car and drives off as fast as he came. Leaving me here, God knows where. I see how the headlights of his SUV disappear. I put my hand to my forehead, I'm bleeding, and I'm lying on the pavement. I don't realize what just happened. What the fuck is was that?!

***

**"Go away to fuck your whore again." - Harry **


	9. Harry's Diary #1

Song: Adam Tyler – Torn 

***

Dear diary,

Only 34 days left. I'm angry and going crazy. I can't stop imagining his hands on her. He touches her, he strokes her, and he kisses her. He makes love with her. I'm gonna throw up. I see her every day. She wears his jacket as if it really belongs to her. I want to take away from her. It doesn't suit her, she has no right to wear it. Samantha could have worn my clothes. Eleanor can't wear Louis' clothes if he's just fucking her. I think that's the worst. She wears his jacket in exchange for a night together. These pictures don't leave my head. I imagine their intertwined bodies. I'm imagining, how they screaming each other's names. I think I'm going to explode. I didn't touch him yesterday, I did it. When he refused to get out of my car, I held back. I didn't hit him, even though I wanted to, but I didn't. I succeeded. You could say I'm moving forward. I haven't slept since I left him on the side of the road, and I'm very tired of new pills. I need some rest otherwise I won't last. Goodnight. 


	10. D - 33

Song: The All American Rejects – I Wanna

***

_"33"_

_"How are you?"_

_"This is the first time you've asked me how I'm doing."_

_"This is not an answer."_

_"You never answer my questions, so I think I have every right to do the same."_

_"I've answered your question many times. This you've refused to accept the answer."_

_"Because I don't believe you"_

_"Why?"_

_"Something will happen from 33 days, but you refuse to tell me what's happened."_

_"Can we change the subject?"_

_"No."_

_"Louis."_

_"You want me to ask your name again?"_

_"Stop it."_

_"Or what? Will you go out of online and not answer for a few days? I'm used."_

_"You're so mad about yours plaster on your forehead?"_

_"I'm not. And how did you know I had a band-aid on my forehead?"_

_"No, you are. I saw you on the campus. What happened?"_

_"I'm not mad. I have fallen at training._

_"No. You're angry. Why do you lie?"_

_"You infuriate me. How do you know I'm lying?"_

_"Are you angry that I'm telling you you're angry? Yesterday, your forehead was fine, and today you have a band-aid, and you haven't had training in this period of time."_

_"Aha... Are you watching me so much?"_

_"I love paradox. Yeah"_

_"Why are you watching me?"_

_"Because I need it"_

_"You know that's weird?"_

_"I know. That bothers you?"_

_"No. That worries me is that I don't know who's watching me."_

_"You won't tell me what happened to your forehead, will you?"_

_"No. You're not gonna tell me, who you are?"_

_"No."_

_"Sweet dreams, Anonym."_

_"Sweet dreams to you too, Louis."_

***

Are you familiar with the moment when you are nervous, angry, hate someone and react impulsively? You ignore people who tell you to stop because you're going to regret what you've done or those who advise you to think carefully before you take action. But you don't care, because at this moment you are one hundred percent sure that you are right and that it is stronger than you. And then the worst happens – the moment when all the anger evaporates. When you're calming down and starting blaming yourself for what you've done. You feel like an idiot because yes if you listened to people's advice, you wouldn't be in complete shit right now. But you're too proud to admit it. Because no, we would never say to anyone: "If I had listened to you, nothing would have happened to me". And then we don't care about all the advice we get, because it's too late. Then we start thinking about the reasons for our anger, and it gets worse because if you think about it, it just turns everything upside down, and we start blaming ourselves for all the mistakes. Even if they are common, if we think about them all the time, we convince ourselves that we are to blame for everything, and it sucks. All doubts and pang of conscience are fallen like snow on the head. We want to go and apologize, but stupid pride won't let us. So we scroll through it in our thoughts, asking ourselves what to do. Pang of conscience turns to anger again. After all, we didn't do this shit ourselves! And we get mad at the other person for not being mad at him, and we only get mad at ourselves. Things are getting too complicated. But that's not the anger I had in the beginning. There's no more impulsivity that makes us do stupid things we'll regret. No, we're just angry because we don't know what to do, and we feel bad that we thought so much. We just want to forget everything, but we can't because it's not that simple. After all, because we thought so much, words and actions will not be erased. You can't come the next day and say: "Let's just forget, nothing happened." Because it's not gonna work. We do not forget, and only will make a kind of. And at the first opportunity, the words will break out and make it even more painful. Well, we've thought about it, now have a headache and just want everything to cease, and everything will better. We repeat to ourselves that we have understood our mistake and that next time we will think twice before speaking.

And the answer is still no. And the worst thing is that we can accept our mistakes as much as we want to, but we'll still do the same next time. That's because we didn't learn anything. There is no difference whether we understand our mistakes or not because we're just too stupid not to screw up again. Because when we're angry, we don't think, because we're too stupid and proud. 

Because actions are meaning more than words, and because words are replacing actions.

Because Louis is mad at Harry and closes to Anonym.

And because he closes, Anonym opens up to him.

If I'm running from you, then you're following me. If I'm following you, you're running away.

It turns out that this is an endless cycle.

After all, philosophy is easier than mathematics. 


	11. Chapter 6

**"I never understood why people mourn the dead. Is it necessary to mourn the emptiness? The pain. The suffer. But not the dead, because the dead don't feel anything. We must mourn the living. Those who remained. Those who suffer this ** **loss ** **because the dead don't care. He doesn't suffer. He's just dead." - Harry**

** **

***

Song: Sia – Breath me

***

A small arrow of my watch, which turns in a regular rhythm. The blonde, who wraps a strand of hair around her finger. The nerd, who licks his thumb every time he turns a page. The librarian is typing something on the computer and periodically scrunches up her nose to pick up the falling glasses. The spider that runs from one slit to another. The ticking of the big clock hanging over the door. A pen that rolls down the table and that I pick it up over and over. I'm sighing. It seems that everything around is decidedly more interesting than the book on law opened in front of me. I pull out my iPhone and check if I have an Anonym response. I sent him a countdown of days in the morning, but no answer. He didn't answer me yesterday too. What if he's angry at me? Whenever I feel like I've been able to talk to him he always slips away. And it's scary. There are only 31 days left before the end of the countdown, and it seems to me that the first email was a million years ago. Although I still remember his message:_ "__What would you do if you had only 100 days to live?"_It's impossible, his question must have a meaning. He didn't just ask about this. That's not the kind of question you ask for no reason. The faster the days are passing, the most it becomes that unpleasant feeling in my stomach because despite what he told me, I know something's going to happen.

_"I'm sorry."_

And I press "send". I'm not used to apologizing, but I don't want to lose him now. Not now, when so little time is remaining until the end. I can't get the obsession out of my head that he's going to do something stupid. I take another breath and put the phone back. Trying to focus on civil rights.

After all, I'm making good progress. An hour later, I release the pencil from my hands and slowly stretch until my eyes abruptly stop in the silhouette. Cannot be. By inertia, I bring my hand to my forehead and frown, feeling three seams under the patch. It's supposed to be a joke. After four days of total disappearance, he's five meters away from me. Four days ago, through his fault, I was bleeding, worried that nothing had happened to him, and he was just standing by the shelves now. His head was dipping in his damn book, which he holds in one hand and in the other a pen. Yeah, it's probably just a joke. He can't be that insolent. But it looks like that's what he is. Fuck, I've been worried about him for four days, and I find him here at the library reading as if nothing happened! Like he didn't dump me on the side of the road after he smashed my forehead against the side window because that bastard was angry and drunk! I'm gonna explode. He comes to the door and prepares to leave. I explode. I get up, squeaking chair, and quickly come to him. He didn't see me coming and I'm pushing him hard by the shoulder.

\- How are you? Are you all right? – he raises his eyes on me, and I pretend to look at him from head to toe not hiding my disgust. I even grab the edge of his t-shirt and slightly pull it back. – Didn't break anything? – he closes the book, putting the pen between two pages, and I continue cold to look at him. – Feel yourself safe and sound?

\- Louis, not here.

He whispers and looks around. I do the same thing, and I realize that all eyes are on us, and I'm literally making a scene. Only I don't give a shit I'm too angry to pay attention. Four fucking days.

\- What? Do people's views bother you now?

I see him gripping his teeth.

\- SHHHH!

I turn my head to the librarian, who stares at us. Except I don't care about her either. I turn my attention to him and already gaining air in the lungs to start yelling at him. But he does not give me time, grabs my elbow and grabs me and pulls towards the exit, but I'm so surprised that I give in him. Stepping out into an empty corridor, he unceremoniously turns my face to him.

\- I'm waiting for an explanation.

He's waiting for an explanation? He'll get them. I throw his arm off abruptly.

\- What should I begin with? No, because I don't really know. Can we start with the way you pushed me in the hallway? Or, not, better since you barged into the closet. Oh, or, since you left the library like last an asshole. No, I have a better idea, let's start with how you thought you were a superhero and saved an idiot lost among mirrors. Choose!

I'm stomping my foot. Okay, I'm very angry. The words just come out of my mouth and I actively gesticulating when I talk. But he stands not showing any emotion on his face. And it pisses me off even more, so I punch him in the shoulder. He moves back slightly, but I don't give him time to fight back, I'm continuing my tirade.

\- You actually like to walk away. Is that your thing? Walk away like the last an asshole – His lack of reaction is driving me crazy – Do you have nothing to say?

He just shrugs.

\- I let you finish.

Ha-ha, so sweet. Thanks.

\- What the fuck is your problem?! You left me in the middle of the road and just walked away! What's wrong with you?!

Okay, I'm totally angry. I know it's the third time I've asked what's wrong with him, but I've been worried about him for four days, and he's just standing there without any reaction. And this pisses me off even more. I can't help but punch him in the jaw. He had not foreseen this turn of events and turned his head to the side from the force of impact. I realize what I just did, and I stop moving. Time seems to have stopped. There's dead silence all around. He stands motionless for a few seconds, and I can't move either, because I understand that he's going to hit me now, too. He brings his hand to his jaw and slowly massages it, turning head to me. I expect him to hit me, insult me, or even look at me viciously, but instead, he smiles. Am I must be hallucinating? Is that a dream? I just punched him, and he's smiling? Anger takes over again, and I cross my arms on my chest.

\- May I know, why are you smiling?

\- You've got a good right-hand hook.

\- Wh-what? – my eyes literally sense got on a forehead. I probably have heard wrong.

He shrugs his shoulders.

\- I didn't think you had such a good punch. I'll be more careful next time.

No, I'd heard right. And the strange thing is that it is not even irony or provocation, just a statement of the fact. And then my hands are falling, my mouth a bit ajar. He's kidding. I just yelled at him, hit him, and he's telling me about the right-hand hook? He once again completely baffles me and makes me lose all my means to the point that even my anger is gone. I never understand anything with him.

\- Are you joking?

\- No, I'm serious. I didn't think you were so strong.

Okay, I don't know what planet he lives on, but right now I feel like I'm in the third dimension. In a parallel universe. Exactly, in a parallel universe. He starts to walk away, and I'm so shocked again that I just watch him walk away. I can't react, and I'm actually asking myself, isn't this all a dream? No, really, because if I get hit by someone, whether they're right or not, they'll get it back in second. I wouldn't smile or talk to him about the power of his punch. Seriously, this guy should be delivered with instructions for use.

\- And Louis, - he turns to me, and I see him pull something out of his jeans pocket before he throws it to me. I instinctively catch it. – Clamp it in your hand, - I look down at the small, rubber ball. He shows me his forehead so that I can remember about mine. – When they'll remove the stitches, hold it in your hand, it'll distract you from thinking about the pain.

Then he turns around and leaves. I watch how he disappears at the end of the corridor, and I squeeze the ball hard. Let's summarize: this guy lives in a different dimension.

***

\- The ball's in two weeks, and Danielle's already making me go with her to pick out a dress.

I'm frowning and leaning on the billiard table. Liam's getting into the hole.

\- Are you going with her?

He shrugs before hits the ball.

\- Aha, - he missed, my turn, I'm focusing on "6". – Are you going with Eleanor?

\- Probably, although I don't know, - hit. – She pisses me off, refuses to understand that we are not together.

"6" falls into the hole, moving, choosing a new ball.

\- What're the stupid rumors about you and Styles?

The heart skips a beat and the cue slips out of hand. I try to look cool like I don't know what he's talking about.

\- What are you talking about?

\- Don't be an idiot, Louis, you know what I'm talking about. What performance was in the library? Rumors are quick, you know.

I noticed, aha. I look up at him.

\- Nothing, Liam. He just pushed me when he came out, and I hit him back.

\- That's not what others say.

\- Since do you listen to what other people say?

\- Since it concerns this psychopath and my best friend.

I'm rolling my eyes and sighing in exasperation.

\- Be careful, dating with Danielle, - you're acting like a chick, - I'm trying to laugh, but it's too fake, I know that he noticed it, but didn't insist. – We're gonna be late, let's go.

I quickly walk around the table and get out of the campus café. I clench my teeth. "That psychopath." I had to work really hard not to tell him don't call him like that.

***

Football practice really wore me out. The coach was in a bad mood and kept us until ten in the evening. I'm literally falling on the bed. At times like this, I'm glad my father has so much money that I can afford a private room. I take my Mac and send an Anonym message – "30", - before substitute a pillow under the head. I'm almost asleep when I see a new message. I'm getting up, rubbing my eyes, and putting the computer on my knees.

_"Why did you apologize yesterday?"_

_"Because I was rude to you without haven't reason."_

_"You didn't need to apologize, and I'm sure you had."_

_"Had. Why you didn't answer me for two days?"_

_"I didn't want to talk."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because."_

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Watch the movie."_

_"What?"_

_"Forrest Gump"_

_"Really? Love it! Wait, I have a DVD, let's watch together? What a scene you're on?_

_"Deal. I'll rewind to the beginning. Tell me when it's ready, and we turn it on together."_

We spent the whole evening watching a film. We comment on every moment and made a bet who will be able to say more lines before Tom Hanks. And yes, I shamefully lost. He knew them almost by heart, word for word. But, not wanting to hurt my feelings, he said we had a draw. I liked doing it with him. It's strange, but for two hours I felt closer to Anonym. I don't know anything about him, not even his name, and I'm almost used to it. But at that moment, I realized that we had something in common. It's nice.

***

23:30

Coach kept us late again, and I'm fighting to stay awake at the wheel. I turn up the sound in the hope that Coldplay will not let me sleep. This is not really necessary, because what I saw in a few seconds, makes me finally wake up.

\- No way. What is he doing now?

It's a dark night outside, and I can hardly see him at the entrance to the cemetery. I have never believed in karma, fate and other nonsense, but I feel that whatever I do, I always cross with him. I stop for a few seconds... and keep going. That's not my problem if he's obsessed with creepy places from horror movies. [...] But what the fuck is he doing in the cemetery at this time? Well, at least he's not hanging over a cliff. The cemetery at night. He didn't find anything creepier?! I start tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and turn around every five seconds.

\- A-a-a-a... Damn, pisses me off.

I'm braking, turn around and parking in front of the iron gate. I'm not a coward, but the cemetery is the last place I want to go in the middle of the night. I put my hands in my pockets and, slowly passing by the graves, I'm noticing him.

\- Hey! – I know he heard me, but he didn't turn around. I approach him with a quick step. He doesn't turn around, I don't know what he's up to, but it's creepy. – May I know what you're going here at this hour?

\- What about you?

And for the hundredth time, I feel myself like an absolute idiot because I can't tell him that I'm here in the cemetery in the middle of the night just because of him.

But for the first time, I don't really care about the fact that I'm making a fool of myself. His eyes are shining – and it bothers me. He seemed so steadfast to me, so strong that the tears in his green eyes completely baffled me. We stand silently. He's probably waiting for an answer, but I see the pain in his eyes and I can't say a word. This's such a severe pain that you have to be stupid or narrow-minded not to realize that he lost a loved one. I've seen him so often alone, so strange and antisocial, amidst all this stupid rumor... I've forgotten that he's human too and can feel like all the other people too. It seems that this silence does not bother anyone except me.

\- Can I go with you?

He frowns while I silently curse myself. I'm acting stupid again. I'm trying to change the subject.

\- I didn't see you SUV by the road. If you came here on foot, I have a car. Of course, if you want to walk, then...

\- Okay.

Thank God he interrupted me because I would have to start digging my own grave. Okay... the cemetery is definitely not mine... I nod and follow him. We pass the graves in silence. I get behind the wheel, and he's next to me.

\- Where do you need to bring?

\- To the campus.

And he turns his head to the window. To be honest, I'm not used to seeing him like this, sitting in my car. This is Harry Styles, the guy everyone's avoiding. I start the car and the radio turns on automatically.

\- Do you like Coldplay?

I look at him from the corner of my eye, and he shrugs before I turn my attention to the road. Given that he's not very talkative at normal times, there are even worse now. I understand that he's not feeling well, and I hope that talking will distract him a little.

\- What kind of music do you listen to?

Feeling the movement, I'm looking at him. He takes the flash drive out of his pocket, inserts it into the stereo and turns to the window. Okay, okay, I got it, he doesn't want to talk. Sia starts to sound and I don't open my mouth anymore. The route passes in silence, and the songs follow each other. I can't stop looking at him every two minutes. It looks like replacing the scenery outside the window, and again I notice how his eyes sparkle. One tear runs down his cheek, but he quickly wipes it with the back of his hand. Fifteen minutes later, I drive into the University parking lot. Barely managed to pull out the keys as he opens the door.

\- Thank you.

He isn't giving me time to answer and not looking in my side, he released. I lower my eyes and realize that he forgot his flash drive.

***

I'm twisting it around. I'm plugging into a USB port. I'm pulling it out of the USB port. Again I twist again I insert, again I pull out. I sigh. Again, the twist in the hands. I insert and pull out it. Consider it. I'm turning over and over. And again. This is the most usual flash drive. Black. I bite my nails. Oh, no, I can't do that. I throw it in the nightstand in order to don't see it anymore. In order to not think about what's on it.

***

**"And this pain is destroying me from the inside". - Harry**


	12. D - 28

Song: Ron Pope – Reason To Hope

***

_"28"_

_"Let watch the movie?"_

_"Why me?"_

_"?"_

_"Why me? You could have sent this mail to anyone. There're over 3000 people on campus, so why exactly me?"_

_"You're different"_

_"What do you mean different? Different from what?"_

_"You're different from the others."_

_"What? I'm no different from the others"_

_"You're you."_

_"Tell me about yourself."_

_"I don't like to talk about myself."_

_"I don't know anything about you. Please, please, please..."_

_"I'm afraid of the dark."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes. Complete darkness brings me into a stupor."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I can't see anything."_

_"What do you like?"_

_"Loneliness."_

_"Why?"_

_"That's because loneliness doesn't judge."_

_"But it is hard."_

_"It is better than people's judgment."_

_"I'd rather be judged than lonely."_

_"I'd rather be lonely than judged."_

_"Choose the movie."_

_"How about 'The Notebook', okay?"_

_"Perfect. I love that movie."_

Because words are more painful than actions. Because the pain of a punch goes away. Because a mere insult can leave an indelible mark. Because a condemnation can hurt. Because a bad reputation can destroy. Because we'll always say it doesn't matter, it doesn't touch us, it doesn't hurt us. Because we're stronger than that and there are always idiots, who will believe it. Because once we can hurt someone without knowing that person is already broken into pieces. After all, what is an insult? Nothing. That's a lie. Then why some words are worst than stabbing wounds?

Even the unattainable can break.

Because the words of others have destroyed Anonym.

Solitude is his only protection.


	13. Chapter 7

**Arthur Koestler said: "Suffering has limits, fear doesn't." **

**Not to be afraid of pain is the most dangerous, because without fear we can't see limits. I was never afraid of pain. (c) Harry**

** **

***

Song: Jason Walker – Cry

***

_"I can't believe."_

_"Well, that's enough."_

_"No, how's that?!"_

_"Shut up, Anonym."_

I sent him countdown of days _"27"_, and we decided that today we will watch the movie "Inception". We watched it, and everything would be good, but I absolutely didn't understand anything. He started explaining to me. I didn't get it anyway. He explained it to me the second time. I didn't understand again. He explained it to me a third time, and it got worse than the first two times.

_"Louis? Are you here?"_

_"No, I'm offended."_

_"But it's not difficult. Look, there..."_

_"I'm warning you, if you start your pseudoscientific explanations again, I'll suffocate myself with a pillow."_

That looks like it made him laugh. Then he decided that we should be on an equal footing, and said that he didn't know how to play in 'Tetris', that he never understood the meaning of this game. My turn to laugh. He is a brain of philosophy, who understands the essence of the most complicated film in the world, but cannot cope with folding squares. I tried to explain to him, only: it is almost impossible to explain the rules with words, so I drew a picture for him.

_"You're taking me to a grave, you know?"_

_"Am I not allowed to laugh any more?"_

_"No."_

_"You're cruel"_

_"Shut up. Take it"_

_http://08.img.v4.skyrock.net/2920/88262920/pics/3168746518_1_8_zsV2pdJ4.jpg_

_"... Did you draw a cat?"_

_"People often think it's a rabbit. I'm making progress."_

_"To be honest, I doubted it."_

_"Okay, do you even understand the rules?"_

_"Not really. The smiley is distracting me."_

_"Next time I'll send you a Wikipedia link."_

_"No. Wikipedia doesn't have your handwriting and they don't draw cats look like rabbits."_

I don't know why, but his last sentence made me smile. I've been smiling all night. Even though he was laughing at me, I felt for the first time in seventy-three days that he was smiling too.

***

\- Make yourself comfortable, the doctor will take care of you

Then she pulls the curtain from the cabin and leaves me alone. I sigh and look around. I always hated hospitals. The smell of medicine, the disinfection, the white walls and all that, it gives me the creeps. I look all around me, and I rub the edge of my t-shirt. In the end, I sit on the bed with my legs dangling, and every two minutes I look at my watch. Where's the damn doctor? After an eternity that lasted fifteen minutes, he finally comes. He peels off the patch and looks at the seams. One by one, he slowly pulls them back, telling me about his life, but I don't listen to him. I'm too busy. I'm busy squeezing and unclenching a rubber ball in my hand, repeating over and over to myself: "don't think about the pain". I don't know if this is a psychological trick, but it actually works. It doesn't hurt.

***

When I went from a gym, it's over 10 p.m. Two hours of beating into a punching bag for boxing made me exhausted. All of my muscles are hurt, and the hair is still wet from the shower. I walk through the underground parking lot, getting to my car. Only I couldn't assume that someone motherfuckers decided to fight around my car. Their voices echo and I slowly approach, hiding behind the SUV. Three are against one. Well, or rather three on one. I see them from the back, two men hold a third while a fourth beat him. I can't see his face, but he seems to be in bad shape and gets very hard punches.

\- What, Styles? Are you not so cool anymore?

My heart skips a beat and I open my eyes wide. No way...

\- Is that all you can do, Zayn?

Shut the fuck up, for God's sake. The punch he gets in the stomach is so strong that is hurts me, too. If these two guys didn't hold him, he would have already fallen to the floor, but instead, he continues his provocations. He laughs ironically. What the hell is he playing at? Is he looking for death?

\- Did you hit her like that, too?

Shut up, Styles, please. I don't know what he said, but it seems to have really pissed the other guy off. From his broken lip blood begins to flow. That's too much.

\- Let him go, you bastards, - I'm coming out of my hiding place and I'm going to them. They all turn to me, and he is released from their hands and collapses on the car. Damn, he's in a terrible state. He's staring at me.

\- Get out. There's nothing for you here.

I completely ignore him and come between them.

\- Get off.

Except my superhero mission failed. I get such a hard hit that I fall to the floor and hear his voice ringing behind me.

\- Son of a bitch!

Head spinning from the too powerful blow and all is happening too quickly. I don't even understand how, but he lashes out at the guy who just hit me, while the other one presses me against the car. I try to break free, but it doesn't work. And he is at this time one against two and angrily responds to all shocks.

\- So you're hanging out with Styles?

I can barely hear what the guy holding me is saying. I'm too shocked to take my eyes off Harry. He gets hit and responds with double force. How he's still standing, in his condition... It's impossible. He should be half-dead on the floor, not fighting so hard. Two guys go to knockout. He comes up to the man holding me and knocks him back three meters away.

\- Don't ever touch him again.

They are a meter apart, staring and not even going to lower his eyes. I can't move, I'm just chained to the car because of the shock of the scene. My gaze runs from one to the other until it stops. I've never seen so much hate in one person. He almost scares me. Although, I have something fear. He stands with a broken face, in a torn t-shirt, breathing heavily. But instead of dying, he's looking at this guy. He's having lowered arms along a body and clutching the bloody (not his blood) fists. It could explode at any moment. And only now I realize how true the rumors about him are, how dangerous he is. He emits only pure hatred. They are so long-standing, while the other guy doesn't lower his eyes. I'm in the middle of a nightmare. I'm in the middle of a terrible nightmare. Thank God they're retreating.

\- Let's get out of here, guys.

I close my eyes for a few seconds and sigh with relief, knowing that I haven't been breathing all this time. I open my eyes, I see them get up from the ground, but he... But he's still tensely standing. His jaw is so clenched that can hear the creaking of the teeth.

\- See you later, Styles.

\- G.E.T. O.F.F

The body is trembling from such a cold and hateful voice. He gets some answers, but I don't pay attention to. I'm focused on him. He watches them walk away, still clenching his fists. Even when they have completely disappeared, he doesn't take his eyes off the iron door.

I get out of my stupor and I take a step toward him. I'm shaking all over.

\- Styles...- I whispered softly, afraid to make him angrier or make him scared. Can he attack me at all? Who knows? And I was right because he suddenly turns around toward me. I retreat, seeing his green eyes had become black. He looks at me the same way he looks at them. Pure hate's in it. I don't dare move. I don't know how long we stood there, but he finally bats his eyelashes a few times, like he knows it's me. And his glance slowly becomes again his glance. I see his muscles relax and as he steps toward me, his body seems to realize how many blows it has just received. He starts falling.

\- Damn!

I barely have time to catch him before he completely falls to the ground. He whines in pain, holding his ribs as I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

\- Are you okay?

\- Does it look I'm okay?

He clenches his teeth and twists in pain. His lower lip is broken, his eyebrow is split and the bruise under his eye is starting to show. Not to mention the many bruises and cuts I can see through his t-shirt. Okay, my question was really stupid, but I'm still in shock. I put my arm around his waist and he screams painfully when I touch his thigh. His ribs should be broken. I'm trying to get him to the car, but he's having a hard time moving. He's literally going to die in my arms.

\- I'll take you to the hospit...

But I don't have time to finish my sentence he's already trying to get out of my hands, saying one firm "no". I'm so surprised I can't catch him. His weight drags me down and we both crash into the car before he falls to the ground. I'm waking up.

\- Fuck, now is not the time to play superheroes! Let me take you to the hospit...

\- No. – He looks up at me filled with anger eyes.

\- Stop it, damn you!

\- I'm not going there.

I'm starting to panic. He's about to pass out! Do you have a problem with hospitals? I wipe my face: I'm covered in blood. I look around like I can find an ambulance. It is necessary to call the doctors, but his moaning is distracting me. I sit in front of him on my knees. His eyes are closed and his head is thrown back. Despite the bruises, he's very pale. Sweat drips down his face. Okay, I'm past the panic stage. I'm literally going crazy.

\- Ta... Take me home.

It's hard for him to talk and when he opens his eyes he looks at me with such a pitiful look that I agree. I know the best thing I can do in this situation is to take him to the hospital, but I still nod. I put his hand on my shoulders.

\- Can you go?

It's his turn to nod. I slowly lift him, once again clasping around his waist. This time, I try not to put too much pressure on his thigh, but only getting to his feet he falls again.

\- And, fuck, - I lean him against the door. – Wait for me here.

As if he could run away. I talk nonsense. I'm completely destabilized by this situation. Anyway, it doesn't happen to me every day. I'm running toward my car. And in less than three minutes, I'm trying to get him back on his feet. He grits his teeth when I put him in the passenger seat. He immediately tilts his head back, tucking his legs under him. The skin covering the seats is completely ruined by the blood. But I don't really care. I close the door and quickly get behind the wheel. He literally turns inside out from the pain. He tells me his address and I start the car.

\- Do you explain to me?

\- No.

I don't insist. I'm so excited to get him home in less than ten minutes. I drive into the yard and... What the hell is this mansion? In comparison with him, I'm the poorest man in the world. I barely have time to stop the car and help him get out as all the lights in the house light up. A man in his forties runs up to us, tying his silk robe as he walks.

\- It's can't be! What else have you done, Harold?

His voice is as hard as his features. And without paying the slightest attention to me, as if I'm not here, he snatches him out of my hands and leads him to the house. He's still holding on to the ribs and stepping hard. I follow them.

\- Will you be all right, Harry?

\- Louis, go home.

\- But...

He doesn't even turn to me and his father, well, at least I think it's his father, gives me an unimportant look.

\- He's right. Come home, mister...

And I'm so shocked by his icy tine that I don't think to answer:

\- Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.

\- Mr. Tomlinson. Thank you for bringing my son. I'll take care of him. Go home.

I look at Harry, waiting for him to react. A gesture, a view, a word – or at least raise his head to me. But he doesn't. Just stands there, cowering in pain. I watch them go away. I think I'm hallucinating. It takes a few minutes before I start thinking straight and get back to the car. It was the worst night of my life. The whole body is shaking. I'm bleeding. Blood is everywhere.

I can't sleep. In my head pictures are spinning, over and over again. The hard blows he received. How could he even stay on his feet before they left? And how the fuck they are? What did they want from him? And this "see you later" doesn't comfort me at all. And his father, damn it! I only saw him for a few seconds, but I can tell you I wouldn't be myself with the father like that too. What the hell was going on with his eyes? They were black and dilated. I've never seen anything like it. It was really weird. He's really strange. But after all, how could he have lasted so long after all these blows?! He's a robot. Right, this guy isn't a human. He's a genetically engineered being or something. I can't stop biting my nails. I hope he's okay father had to take him to the hospital. Stop. Why should I worry about him? I have to worry about my car and my completely blood-stained seats. I wrap myself in a blanket and close my eyes. [...] X-Ray. I hope his father gave him x-ray of rib.

***

\- So, do you agree?

\- Huh? Um, yeah.

We just had sex. Eleanor's head is on my torso and she's stroking my stomach. To be honest, I didn't listen to a word. I didn't listen to her at all because I don't care about her. I'm thinking of someone else.

\- Have you seen the film "Inception"?

\- No. - She looks up at me. Her cheeks are still pinkish from orgasm, her hair is in a complete mess and perfectly manicured nails piss me off. – Why?

\- Nothing. Forget it.

I'm pushing her and standing up. I collect the clothes scattered around the room and start to dress. She covers herself with a sheet and looks at me.

\- Are you leaving?

\- Yes.

She was already used to the fact that I immediately get out after sex and she's not throwing hysterics anymore.

\- Are you coming to the party tonight?

\- No.

I zip up my jeans and put on a t-shirt.

\- Why not? Louis, you should go!

All right, about tantrums – I jumped to a conclusion.

\- I don't want to.

\- This is gonna be a really cool party, you can't miss it!

Her dramatic tone pisses me off.

\- Damn El, it's just a party like hundreds of others.

\- But this is gonna be awesome!

I sigh in exasperation before sitting on the bed to lace up my sneakers.

\- So, I'm gonna miss an amazing party.

\- But why?

This's because I don't want to go to the damn party. They're always the same way. A huge house, alcohol, the joints, the sex. And we always end up on the street when the cops barge in. It's annoying. It's boring. I prefer to spend the evening watching a movie with Anonym. But I'm not gonna tell her that. I haven't told anyone about him, not even Liam and I'm not going to.

\- I just don't want to, El. Don't start this is not a good time.

I get up, pulling on my captain's jacket because I don't want to leave it here again. Only she doesn't seem to like it. She sits on the bed.

\- What's wrong, Louis?

\- Everything's fine. That's just yours stupid teen parties are annoying me. I grew up.

She looks absolutely shocked.

\- What's going on with you, Louis? You're not the same anymore. You've changed.

I can't help but laugh ironically.

\- Why do you think you know me? Come on, El, you know nothing except my dick.

\- But we...

\- What we are? We're nothing. We just fuck. Tell me, when was the last time we had a full conversation?

Her eyes literally climbed to her forehead and she opened her mouth.

\- What's wrong with you?

\- Nothing. There's nothing wrong with me.

I take my bag and leave the room, slamming the door.

***

_"24"_

Only sending him one email, quickly write the second:

_"Answer me, please."_

_"I don't want to talk."_

_"Is that why you haven't answered me for two days?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Why you didn't tell me?"_

_"Why I didn't tell you what?"_

_"Why you didn't tell me you didn't want to talk?"_

_"That's because when I don't want to talk – I don't want to say anything."_

_"But I'm just worried about you."_

_"Are you worried about me?"_

_"Yes."_

He doesn't answer again. I'm sitting looking at the screen and biting my nails. But there's nothing. No answer. And I have this unpleasant feeling that he is slipping away from me. If he opens to me, it's only to close again. Half an hour later, I lose all hope. I know I'm not getting anything else today. It's still early, and I'm thinking about joining the others at the party. But I don't want to. The clock is not yet eleven when I turn off the light. I fall asleep without any mood.

***

I've always believed that the University mentality is different from the school mentality. That people grow up, get smarter, and get kinder... I've never been so wrong. The prom queen remains the prom queen. A nerd remains nerd, and an asshole remains is an asshole. And the worst thing is that I feel like I'm at the top of the hierarchy but he doesn't belong to any category. He's in his world and when he walks into the cafeteria, half the people here are looking at him and I'm filled with a sense of relief. He hasn't been to class in three days. And now he's standing here, alive and well. I honestly tried to convinced myself that I wasn't worried about him, that I didn't care, that it wasn't my problem, but seeing him now, I know I was worried to death. At the sight of his broken lip and plastered eyebrows, everyone starts to whisper. He sits down at a table not far from us, holding a book and a can of Coca-Cola. I think I respect him for that. The way he ignores people stays above it as if he can't be hurt. Unfortunately, whispers quickly escalate into provocations. And they come from our table. The guys from the team decided to be even dumber than usual.

\- Hey, Styles, what happened with you? Did you get beat up in the nuthouse? Huh?

I'm clenching my teeth to stay out of it. Despite the fact that he's sitting with his back to us, I can see how his muscles are straining under the t-shirt. That seems like I'm not the only one who's clenching my teeth. Provocations continue.

\- Hey, are you deaf or what?

Fucking react, say something. Turn around, punch him in the face. Anything, but don't let them just attack you! Come on, Harry... But no, there's nothing. He sits motionless without any reaction. I see Josh taking an empty Pepsi can. Already going to interfere, but don't have time to do anything, he's throwing it. It hits Harry in the back of the head before it falls and rolls on the floor. And now I feel like the world just stops spinning. There's not a sound in the cafeteria anymore. Josh is frozen, completely shocked by his own action. Yeah, man, you got something to be afraid of. If earlier he caught only half of the views, now he won the jackpot. Harry a few seconds, still looking at his book, then quickly closes it and gets up. The creak of his chair stands out in the silence around us. He picks up the jar and comes to us. No one moves and everyone stares at Josh, who is literally not breathing. Even when his green eyes express such anger, he looks absolutely calm. He puts the bank in front of Josh.

\- You dropped it.

Josh can't answer and he's just muttering something illegible. He wanted to be cool, but he seemed to have forgotten who he was dealing with. I don't know why, but inwardly I'm so proud that I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. He looks down on him. He's just showing how much smarter and stronger he is. And without a word, he turns around and leaves the cafeteria, he's opening his book and throwing in the trash just finished a can of Coca-Cola.

Wow. I... Just wow. I watch his disappear with bated breath. And I'm not alone. Now the whispers turn into taunts and shouts. In direction of Josh, of course, who is trying to save the remnants of his pride and stands with his head held high. As if that would help him. I'm standing up.

\- Where else are you going?

\- I want to congratulate him on being able to shut up a jerk like you. I've wanted to do it for so long.

And without hearing the answer, I leave the cafeteria. I see him in the middle of the corridor.

\- Wait!

He turns around and looks at me I realize that it was just a performance, that he's really hurt. Fuck... He almost has tears in his eyes and I have again, there is a horribly unpleasant feeling. I feel ashamed. It's a shame I didn't intervene. Why didn't I stand up for him?

\- What do you want?

\- I... I wanted to apologize. Don't pay any attention to them. They're just idiots.

He shrugs and turns his back to me. I just don't want to let him go again. I'm following him.

\- Why? Why didn't you react? Why do you let them hurt you if you could kick their asses even in that condition?

\- They can't hurt me.

\- Come on, of course, they can.

\- No.

\- You're too proud to admit it, aren't you?

I know I went too far, but it hurts to see him like this. To see him pretend he doesn't care about anything. He does. I think after seeing him so dangerous and angry, I need to make sure he has weaknesses, too. That he could be hurt, too.

\- It's not a matter of pride.

\- Damn it, of course, it's a matter of pride! You're too proud to admit they hurt you.

It was rougher than I thought, but I hate his eternal superhero game. He stops so abruptly that I almost bump into him and turns to face me.

\- Fuck, you're too fucking stupid to understand. I can't admit that! I have no right to show them that they can hurt me! That's because if they find out it's gonna get worse. They'll know I have a weakness. And when you want to destroy someone, you try to hurt their weak spot. So no, Louis, it's not a matter of fucking pride. I don't have a choice.

In his voice so much anger that it hurt me too.

\- But WHY aren't you reacting? WHY?

He smiles sadly, looking at the cafeteria door.

\- That's because easier to be stupid than weak.

Then he turns his back on me and leaves. His words hurt me so much that I silently let him go. He's the most incomprehensible person I've ever met. He gets beaten half to death in the parking lot, fights with very dangerous-looking guys, fearlessly confronts them but allows a couple of football players, who have no more in their brains than in their pants, hurt him. I can't understand him. And the strange thing is, the more weaknesses he has, the stronger he seems to me. The more often he allows others to hurt him, the more unattainable he looks.

I put my hand in my jacket pocket when he's ten meters away.

\- Hey, Styles.

He turns and catches what I just threw him.

\- Squeeze it in your hand. - I point to my eyebrow to remember him of his own. – When they will remove seams, squeeze it in a hand. It'll take your mind off the pain.

He looks down at the little rubber ball. He looks at me and I see a slight smile on his lips.

\- I'll try not to forget.

He turns and walks away. And again, I'm glad he's standing in the middle of the corridor, not lying on the side of the road in a pool of blood.

***

**"He worries about me." (c) Harry **


	14. D-20

Song: Switchfoot –Your Love Is A Song

***

_"20. Do you wanna talk today?"_

_"No."_

_"Watch a movie?"_

_"No."_

_"You annoy me. What if I want to talk?"_

_"You have friends for it."_

_"I wanna talk to you."_

_"Why?"_

_"Let's watch the Titanic"_

_"Why, Louis?"_

_"I like talking to you. Okay. Now, you're happy?"_

_"Yes"_

_"That's it?"_

_"What, that's it?"_

_"I just admitted that I love talking to you and your answer is a simple "Yes"?"_

_"As you see."_

_"Am I doing something wrong?"_

_"No."_

_"Then why don't you want to talk?"_

_"Because I do not want to"_

_"Should I be content with this answer?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"What if I don't want?"_

_"Go and fuck Eleanor, it'll distract you."_

_"What? Are you jealous?"_

_"Yes, Louis, you understand everything. I'm burning with jealousy. I've always wanted to fuck Eleanor."_

_"I didn't know you like sarcasm."_

_"You learn something new every day."_

_"You're in a really shitty mood."_

_"I warned you I didn't want to talk."_

_"I don't care. I did it."_

_"What you did?"_

_"I talked to you."_

Because we can't always win.

Because sometimes defeat means more than victory.

Because there're no winners or losers in their history.

Tonight they both will sleep with a smile on their lips.


	15. D-19

Song: One Republic – Apologize

***

_"19. You still don't want to talk?"_

_"No. But I don't want to be alone."_

_"Then I'll stay with you."_

_"Thanks."_

_"And you don't need to say anything, I can do it for two."_

_"Really?"_

_"Sure. Wait, I have an idea! [...] Do you see me?"_

_"No, the picture is blurry."_

_"And now?"_

_"Fix the webcam. I see your wall."_

_"It's all right now?"_

_"Yeah. I see you. What are those books on the shelf?"_

_"Comics. We played in the game with Liam when we were kids. We took the book, changed all dialogues, changed history. So, Spider-Man or Superman?"_

_"Superman."_

_"Excellent choice. Let's get started! (Sorry if I don't have enough imagination, the last time I did it, I was 12 years old)"_

***

Sometimes we feel empty and sad, don't really know why. There's no definite reason. We just feel bad – that's all.

That night, Anonym felt bad and sad. He didn't want to talk and he didn't want to be alone.

Louis stayed with him. He showed him every page of the book, every picture.

_"Superman drove a Batmobile. He married Catwoman. Lois Lane was crushed by an elephant. The E.T. didn't belong here he went home on the Ferrari. He left the Metropolis and moved to Paris to eat croissants. Lex was his best friend. There was Lana too, but that's just because she was a very beautiful actress. He saved the world seven times."_

Lying on his bed, Anonym listened to a meaningless story. He missed pictures a couple of times and often wondered what the E.T. was doing there.

But it didn't matter.

In the end, the superhero fell asleep with a book on his stomach, not knowing that on the other side of the screen for a few hours someone was looking at him, thereby feeling a little happier. For the first time didn't feel so lonely.

It wasn't just Superman who saved the world that night.

That's because we all need a superhero, even without superpowers.

Superhero for Anonym is just a law school student.

_ **"Sweet dreams, Louis".** _


	16. D-18

Song: The Script – Breakeven

***

_"18. Can I ask you a question?"_

_"I'm listening."_

_"Why did you take so long to answer me the first time?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I've texted you for 29 days and you've never answered. Why?"_

_"That's because I needed time."_

_"Time for what?"_

_"To understand."_

_"Understand what?"_

_"To realize that you wouldn't give up._

_"What if I had given up?"_

_"I couldn't bear it."_

_"But I didn't give up and I wouldn't give up."_

_"Will you stay with me until the end? Do you promise?"_

_"I promise."_

Let someone into your life is taking the risk to see how he let out of there one day.

Anonym responded only 29 days later.

29 days is the time it took him to realize that Louis wouldn't leave him.

Louis didn't give up because he needed to know what was going to happen in 100 days.

Just curious have created a very strong bond. And now he doesn't care.

That's because Anonym let him into his life and he wasn't going to leave.

He won't allow destiny to prevail. 


	17. Chapter 8

**Hervé Bazin wrote: "Life without a future is most often live without a past." ** **Bullshit. **

**Sometimes the past brings so much pain that it leaves us without a future. (c) Harry**

** **

***

Song: Nikki – How to Break a Heart

***

_"16. Will you come to the masquerade ball tomorrow?"_

_"No"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I don't like balls and masks and people."_

_"And dancing?"_

_"Never."_

_"That's too bad you're not coming."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because that could be cool. The Anonym in a black mask lost in the middle of the crowd. Well, you know what I mean."_

_"I like the idea."_

_"So, will you come?"_

_"No, I still don't like people."_

And it's probably stupid, but I smiled. He doesn't like people, but he doesn't push me out. It's such a nice feeling to know that I'm different, I'm different from other people. When I'm with Anonym, I feel like I'm dear to him. No, I have no self-esteem issue, quite the contrary. I know what I'm worth and I'm proud of it. But it's different with him, it seems to me that my actions actually make sense. For example, when I'm not mad at him if he doesn't want to talk or calm him when he's sad. I feel good when I do it. That's because he turns the most unimportant things into vital ones. I think that's what I like about him. The way he shows me I'm worth something without even knowing it.

\- And this one?

I quickly lose my smile and look up, sighing in exasperation.

\- It's perfect.

Like the other eight, she tried on. I don't understand how I could agree to that. I've been sitting on the couch in front of the fitting room for two hours, pretending to look at Eleanor's dresses. Every time I tell her they're all beautiful, but she still hasn't picked one. She turns around the mirror and tilts her head to the side. I'm warning you, don't say what you're going to say.

\- I'll try another.

Not again. I'd rather jump off a bridge than sit here for another hour. My turn to manipulate. I stand up and put my arms around her waist.

\- No. This's perfect.

\- But you say it every time!

I tilt my head to whisper in her ear:

\- Yes, but I can already imagine pulling it off you after the ball.

Efficiently. Twenty minutes later we're on the street.

***

The party's started two hours ago and I'm finishing my seventh or eighth glass of whiskey. I don't know and I don't care. The main hall of the University is decorated in the style of the sixteenth century. The girls are in dresses, the guys are in suits. All of them are in masks. I'm standing at the bar with a glass in my hand, talking to a blonde whose name I don't remember. Eleanor made me so angry with her dancing, I sent her to fuck off. I hate dancing and she knows it. Insulting me, she didn't forget to clarify that the dress will pull off her someone else. Oh, Hallelujah, finally. Blondie tells me that... I have no idea what she's telling me. I look at her cleavage, it's more interesting. She abruptly interrupts her monologue and looks at something behind my back.

\- WOW!

Taking a sip of whiskey, I turn to see what could shut her up and... Fuck. I almost spilled the drink. He stands in the middle of a huge entrance. Motionlessly. Black boots, black tight pants, black shirt, black mask, and those damn green eyes. I'm not gay, but here, among these ridiculous masks and costumes, he stands out. He radiates something very strong. Almost all the guests standing at the entrance turn to him, looking in shock at the antisocial Harry Styles, who come to the ball. Okay, he's two hours late, but he's never come to any party before! And how fucking gorgeous he is. In the category of "spectacular emergence", he beats all records, actually doing nothing. Just standing with his hands in his pockets and looking around the room. He, as always, don't care that he is the center of everyone's attention. Our eyes collide and I quickly turn away. I need another glass of whiskey right now. When I look at him again, he's walking to the dance floor with some blonde girl. So he likes dancing? Ah.

I'm in the middle of the dance floor. I don't know how I got here. Probably, the last glass was superfluous. I'm dancing. My jacket is I don't know where and my tie, by the way, too. The blonde rubs her hips against me. I'm hot, I'm sweating. I tip the contents of the glass every time I move. There's more alcohol on the floor than there is in my mouth. And that's good because I'm terrible dizzy. The heat becomes unbearable and the music in my head is ringing like beats of a hammer. I feel sick. I need air. I push the blonde and try to get to the exit. I'm probably all pale. I can feel the sweat on me. I've had too much to drink. Music is changing. Harlem Shake's starting to play and I'm in the middle of this madness. I hardly see the people around me. I'm being pushed from all sides. It feels like everything is spinning around. I'm about to have a panic attack. Someone pushes me hard and my glass shatters on the floor. I lose my balance and when I'm ready to follow after the glass, a strong hand catches me around the waist. I raise my head and stop breathing. Damn it... I catch the intent gaze of green eyes, surrounded by a black mask. No, his gaze not just intent, it's literally piercing. For a few seconds, I stop hearing the music. Nothing else exists. There's nothing but his eyes and his hands on my waist. I can see his lips moving, but I can't hear what he's saying. He looks away – and the outside world exists again. Alcohol reminds me of itself again. I feel really, really bad and I really, really need to get out of here. People are still dancing. He squeezes my waist tighter and I cling closer to him. With his other hand, he unceremoniously pushes people away and we quickly find ourselves on the street. He lets me go and I'm leaning against the wall, slowly slide to the ground. OK, note: I had to drink a hundred glasses multiplied by another hundred glasses, but completely forget about their number. The deep breath of fresh air makes me feel better, but my head is still spinning. He sits down next to me and pushes his hands on my knees.

\- You're very drunk.

Oh seriously?

\- So what?

\- Nothing. It's just a statement.

\- What are you even doing here?

Yes, I'm a complete asshole. That's because he just helped me avoid public humiliation and I'm being rude to him. But it's not my fault. His damn mask and damn eyes are confusing me. The black fabric makes them even greener than usual. And it's annoying because I can't stop looking at him. Anyway, it's all because of whiskey.

\- What am I doing here?

\- Yeah, what are you doing here?

And there he's starting again. Again burns me with a glance. Does he actually know it's illegal to look at someone with eyes like his? And silence. We were enveloped in a long silence. There's only his eyes and silence. Nothing else and I don't want it to stop. But he violates it.

_\- The Anonym in a black mask lost in the middle of the crowd._

And even though he barely whispered the words, I stopped breathing. For the second time in the evening, time stopped. It's just the two of us. And without giving me time to recover, he covers my lips with his. He wraps his hands around my face. I never thought he could be so gentle. I like the taste of mint on his tongue. But the alcohol reminds me of itself and I start to feel sick. I sharply push him away and... I throw up on him. Literally. I vomit dinner, which I ate in the evening, at noon, yesterday and last week. Possible last month too. Right on his black shirt, on his black pants, on his shoes and I black out. See only darkness. There's a total blackout. Yeah, I know how to end a night in style.

***

_"14"_

_"How was the masquerade?"_

_"Don't remind."_

_"Why? Was it really that bad?"_

_"I have a huge hangover."_

_"Too bad?"_

_"Aha. I feel like my brain is going to explode."_

_"You need to rest."_

_"I can't. I have football practice."_

_"Don't go."_

_"Coach will kill me."_

_"He will still kill you if you get sick during training. Go to sleep."_

_"Are you always so bossy?"_

_"I don't command, I just think sensibly. If you go to practice now, you will not succeed and you will fall asleep right on the field."_

_"You're right, I'll go to sleep."_

_"Right decision"_

_"Commander"_

_"GO TO SLEEP"_

_"Okay, okay I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't yell."_

_"Go to sleep.* is it better?"_

_"Yeah"_

_"Have a good rest."_

_"Thanks."_

I have training in 30 minutes. Coach is gonna kill me. I'm going back to bed. My head hurts like hell and all I remember is that Styles and I kissed before I threw up on him. It's official, I'll NEVER drink again.

***

Sunday lunch with my parents is even more boring than usual. I'm going back to midnight. The Calling is replaced Nirvana, when I notice his black 4x4, standing at the cemetery. Like last time. Without thinking, I park behind SUV. I don't know what to tell him. I don't even know why I'm going there. The last time I saw him was three days ago, at a ball. And I can't stop thinking about the kiss. I've never questioned my sexual orientation and I'm not going to do it now. Actually, I don't really care. I'm more concerned with the strange suspicion that I might have liked it. I don't remember much. I just remember that he was very gentle, I think and that he'd smell nice of mint before I threw up. That's the part I prefer not to remember, to mentally save my pride and not to die of shame.

He lies on the grave, putting a hand behind his head and the other holding the bottle of Russian vodka. He looks at the sky. And I was right I absolutely don't know what to say.

_"Hey, why are you lying on the grave in the middle of the night? By the way, I'm sorry I threw up on you."_

That's not a good idea. So I stand with my hands in my jacket pockets, feeling like an idiot. Damn, why do I always feel like an idiot with him? When he notices my presence, he looks at me for a few seconds before turning his attention to the starry sky.

\- Good evening.

I know a simple greeting should have surprised me. I mean, any normal person would ask me what I'm doing here or if I'm stalking him, but he's actually a not normal person. He's different, so I'm not surprised. He's lying on a grave in the middle of the night, so I guess for once want to be different, too.

\- Can I join you?

The words barely left my lips and I'm also sorry I said them. After all, if he comes here, then to be alone and not tolerate the company of a guy, who on top of everything else, he threw up on him. However, he moves from the middle of the grave to the edge, leaving me some room. I lie down beside him. Our shoulders touch and he hands me a bottle of vodka.

\- Thank you.

I look him watching the stars and I don't think I've ever seen him so relaxed. He looks calm and peaceful. I don't know how long we lay in silence. For a long time and it's weird, but I feel more relaxed, too. Like his calmness has rubbed off on me. Finally, I decided to ask the question that has tormented me all this time.

\- Why did you kiss me that night?

\- What makes you think I kissed you and not the other way around?

Exactly, I just don't know anything myself and I'm frustrated that I can't remember. It makes me scary. I feel him looking at me and I turn my head, looking for the answer in his eyes. Of course, I can't find it, because in his eyes only green, very green and very deep pool. So deep that I can't concentrate and it's even more infuriating.

\- You kissed me, Styles, I'm sure.

I'm waiting to confirm my theory, but he just shrugs and turns his attention to the sky.

\- What does it matter?

And I realize he's right. Who cares who made the first move? The result is the same. Alcohol or not I didn't push him away and I still think I liked the kiss.

\- You kissed me.

\- You threw up on me.

Okay. Here is now was it's a shame.

\- Did you bring me home?

\- Don't you remember?

\- To be honest, I don't remember anything.

He turns to me, but I can't decipher his expression.

\- You really don't remember anything?

I don't know if it's his piercing gaze or his soft whisper, but I'm almost ashamed that I don't remember anything.

\- I remember you kissing me and I... um, you know what happened after.

In truth, the only thing I remember for sure is the bright color of his green eyes in the black mask. But I won't say that. His gaze confuses me and I think he wants to read my mind. He had never seemed so unattainable.

\- Whose is this grave?

I know I should have thought about it before asking him these questions, but... I damn well want to know whose grave we're lying on. I've seen him twice, how he has come to this cemetery and I'm sure it's a common thing for him. I remember the pain in his eyes when I first saw him here and I need to know who he lost. Who's the person who makes him lie on his grave with a bottle of vodka in the middle of the night? As if knowledge of the name can ease his pain. I'm really an idiot. Instead of a quick answer, he tilts his head back to read the headstone.

\- Ernest Standford.

\- You don't know the man we're lying on?

\- No.

\- Then why are you here?

\- So he wouldn't be so lonely.

I don't know what hurts me more: the answer itself or the fact that he was said about a completely different person. There's someone here who was very dear to him. Only he doesn't have the courage to lie on his grave, so he prefers a stranger. And for the first time in all that time, I think I know how he feels.

\- Kiss me.

He's still looking up at the sky when I whisper these words and I feel him stop breathing. He slowly lowers his glance on me and all repeats again. I only see his green eyes. He looks at me in silence, as if he wasn't sure he heard me correctly. And the longer he looks at me, the more I want him to do it.

\- Kiss me.

\- Why?

\- I need to know if I really liked it or it was alcohol.

\- What if I don't want to kiss you?

\- You don't want to kiss me?

\- No.

And time stopped again. His "no" means "yes". He slowly brings closer to me and gently touches my lips. This simple touch makes me shudder. I forgot how soft they are. I also forgot how pleasantly his hands were around my face and his thumb was stroking my cheek. I also forgot how hot his tongue was and how nice it was. He doesn't make sudden movements and he acts like needed it and I like this. I like the smell of mint and his perfume. I like to feel his lips on mine, his hands on my cheeks and his body getting closer to mine. And I realize that if I wanted to kiss him, it wasn't to see if I liked it for the first time. I wanted it. I wanted to feel his breath with a hint of mint, his smell, his lips... I just needed an excuse to do it. This time I can't even hide behind alcohol, so I hardly drank. I can't blame vodka for making me put my hand on his hip. I can't blame vodka for bringing my body closer to him. And, of course, I cannot blame the vodka that I like it all. Slowly he breaks the kiss and moves his head back a little to look at me in the eyes. I can hear his heart beating against mine. I feel his breath on my face.

\- So?

\- It was awful. It's all the alcohol and... Kiss me again.

And the feeling that nothing exists but us again consumes me. I have to react or get scared that I'm kissing a guy and I like it. Only now I don't care. The dead can turn over in their coffins how many they'll want, that's none of my business. That's because it's too nice to stop. Only now the kiss is interrupted. Don't know him or at my initiative, but I never have hated human beings so much for needing oxygen. He kisses with such tenderness, such gentleness, that I felt like I was kissing with him for the first time. I already want to do it again, but I feel like if I kiss him again, it's gonna be the start of the biggest shit of my life. And I give him a slap. Just like that, without warning. I guess I decided to be an even biggest asshole than usual. It happened so fast, I didn't have time to control it. I don't want to see his reaction, I'm already ashamed. And in less than a second, I'm on my feet and starting to walk away, when his voice stops me.

\- It was you. – I turn to looks at him. He's leaning on his elbows and rubbing his cheek but doesn't angry, I even notice a slight smile on his lips. –That night at the ball it was you. Not me. – and when he looks into my eyes, I realize that I already knew the answer. From the beginning. It was me at the masquerade, not him. I kissed him. And without words, without insults for a slap, he lies back on the grave and closes his eyes.

I get in the car. I just kissed a guy and I liked it. Except I'm not at all worried about the fact that it was a guy. It's _him_, with him, everything is a difference because he is different. And I _want to_ do it again. And I want to _want to_ do it again. And I want him to_ want_ _to_ kiss me again, too. I know I want too much, but I want to feel his lips on mine again. And the taste of mint in my mouth. I have a right to want! If it happens again, I'll try to keep my dinner to myself and not slap him. That's because I want him to kiss me again. And again... And I like to _want_.

***

I wake up scared. Only 9 days left. My head has aches. The party with the guys from the team lasted late and ended in a strip club. I have a terrible hangover. But that's not why I feel like shit. No. That's because of that for the first time in 91 days, I forgot to send countdown to Anonym. Despite the headache, I rush to my MacBook. Fingers nervously knock on the mouse until it turns on. I've never forgotten before. Never once. I'm afraid of his reaction. I'm afraid he'll be angry at me. Going to the University blog, I feel a sharp pain in the stomach. No... No. No. No way. No. I click on all the buttons, enter in the search for his nickname again and again. I'm going through all the pages. I open each email several times. I don't want to believe it. It can't be real. There's nothing. Emptiness. His profile was deleted. He just disappeared.

***

**And his lips on mine, not far from her.**

**And his mistake that ruined everything. (c) Harry **


	18. Harry's Diary #2

Song: 30 Seconds To Mars – Beautiful Lie

***

Dear diary,

He forgot. He promised and forgot. It wasn't difficult. One email – one cut. One day – one cut. This is easy. He ruined it. One email – one cut. I am... How? How... What am I supposed to do?... 91. I needed 100. Not 91. I need to do it, I must do it. He doesn't realize. I'm counting 91 cuts over and over again. I should have had 100 by the end. One email – one cut. He had no right to forget. How am I gonna do it now? I cannot but do it. I need this. Help me. I can't leave it like this. 9 days, 9 days left. I lack 9 cuts, but he forgot. I cannot. I hate him. He had no right to do that. I have to do this... But I can't without his emails. I need them. Why would he do it? I left room for the other nine. He ruined it. Now, I can't do it anymore. One email, one day, one cut. Do you understand? Without his mail – there's no day, and without a day – there's no cut. I need to calm down. I breathe. I have to do it anyway. Just somewhere else.

[...]

I would do anything to erase them. I don't want anymore. There were only 91 and there should have been 100. But I couldn't just leave them. Now I have to do only 8. On the thigh. I made a ninth on my hip. Only on the front, not the back. I couldn't do it in the same place. He ruined everything. I hate him. He promised to be with me until the end. He promised me. I hate him.


	19. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wassup,
> 
> So, this is the last chapter
> 
> of the first tom of The Degradation.
> 
> Thanks all of you, for your comments, they make me happy a little bit. Continue to do it, I like it, okay.

**"Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive." (c) Josephine Hart**

***

Song: Skillet – Everything Goes Black

***

D-8 THE HOPE.

He can't disappear forever. That isn't possible. He needs those e-mails too much. He's just angry, but he'll come back. He should come back because he can't just leave. Okay, we missed one day, just one e-mail. We can get over this. I'll apologize and he'll forgive me. He's just angry, but he can't drop everything now. He needs it as much as I do. He'll be back. He must come back.

D-7 THE WAITING.

Two days. Two days, I'm sitting in my room, staring at my computer screen. I don't want to see anyone. I texted Liam and told him I was sick. I think I really am. My stomach hurts all the time. Apparently, he's angrier than I thought. Damn, don't do anything stupid... Come back. We missed three days, three e-mails, but he can still come back. He just needs time. Time to stop being mad at me. Only now, we just haven't the time. Only 7 days left. Fuck, Anonym, please, come back.

D-6 THE LACK.

Three days. Three days since he went missing. I refuse to admit he's not coming back. I miss him. I know I didn't always hear from him for 94 days. Didn't get any answer because he didn't want to talk. But this time it's different because now he's gone. Even if he didn't answer, he was here. His profile was here. I knew he'd been sitting behind his monitor for at least a few seconds, thinking about me. Every day, to read my messages, he had to go to my page and see my photo. And to send him these messages, I had to go over his page and see a black square that replaced his photo. It was the thread that connected us. Even if he didn't talk to me, I knew he remembered me every day. But now that he's gone, is he still thinking about me? In the days when he closed in himself, I could just go to his profile to calm down. Even if it was completely empty, I needed to read his nickname to feel better. Six big black letters. ANONYM. Six letters that reminded me he was real. I never told anyone about him, not even Liam. He was my personal secret. And when he ignored me for days, his nickname, his page, reminded me that he actually existed. That any student at the University could see his profile. And now that he's gone, I feel like he never existed. Three days is not a lot, but if you live 94 days with the habit of sending a countdown every day and knowing that it will be read accurately, then when it all disappears, you absolutely don't know what to do. That's the way it is now. Without Anonym, without sending emails, I don't know what to do. I've got this fucking phrase in my head all the time. _"We only begin to appreciate what we have when we lose it."_ That shitty cliché hits me in the face like a punch. I miss him. I really miss him.

And even if I refuse to admit it, deep inside, I've realized for a long time ago that I've lost them both. It hurts the most.

D-5 THE NEED.

\- Where's Styles?

\- Look, who's back.

\- Fuck, Liam, don't be a jerk. Answer me, is he here or not?

I just broke into the cafeteria and I literally jumped Liam. The guys are looking at me strangely. At the same time, I understand them. They haven't seen me for four days. I didn't sleep much and didn't even comb my hair, just shaved. I have circles under my eyes and I probably have to look terrible. But I don't care. I never thought I'd be so shocked by this situation, but I am. Josh decided to piss me off even more.

\- Why are you looking for this psychopath?

I'm going to tell him to shut up, but Liam's doing it for me. That's good because I wouldn't limit myself to simple words.

\- Shut up, Josh. And you, come with me, - he gets up and takes me to the end of the hall where we can talk in private. – Will you explain to me what's going on between you and Styles?

He frowns. And even though he didn't say anything, I know he's worried.

\- Nothing, Liam. I just need to know where he is. Have you seen him or not?

I'm annoyed. I don't know why. Probably that's because of lack of sleep, but my body is trembling.

\- What happened in the night, during the masquerade, that's okay, you think?!

What? I freeze. Did he see us kissing? Why the fuck did I drink so much that night? And what does he care, after all? That's my problem, not his. And it really pisses me off, because I'm worried about something more important than that. Well, like every time I get mad at something, I turn on arrogance.

\- So what?

\- So...So what?! You dare ask me so what?! I found Styles in your room!

\- Excuse me?

WHAT?! I think my eyes never was so wide open in my entire life and I never have cursed myself so much for the fact that I don't remember anything. That kind of nonsense.

\- What the hell was he doing in my room?

Liam laughs ironically. Probably thinks I'm kidding. But I'm not joking.

\- Wait, you mean you don't remember?

\- No, I don't fucking remember anything!

And it came out so fast that I realized that my brain is working at 200km per hour, imagining all the possible scenarios that night. An almost frightened and trembling voice I ask.

\- We... We're not...

Liam interrupts me abruptly as if the end of the sentence disgusted him.

\- What? No! Are you crazy?

Only his reaction, which reminded me of disgust, made me angry. I'm completely changing tactics. Provocation.

\- Come on, Liam, don't be a nun. I kissed him. Twice and if you want to know, I really enjoyed it.

If his jaw could fall off and hit the floor, it would. Except his jaw doesn't fall off, so he just stands there with his mouth wide open.

\- Tell me I'm dreaming.

\- No, you're not. And fuck, that's not the point! What was he doing in my room? – he's completely shocked, but I don't care. I don't leave him time to recover from the news that his childhood friend might like a guy. – Damn, Liam, what was he doing in my room?

He's coming around and I finally get an answer. If I said earlier that his jaw could fall off and hit the floor, then mine must have fallen off the thousandth floor and landed in China.

\- He was sitting on a chair by your bed, you were separated by a vomit-filled pelvis and he was holding your hand. You refused to let him go even when I came in and he tried to get up.

Okay, now my jaw has traveled around the world three times. No, no, no. I have an objection. I refuse. I don't agree. I couldn't throw up all night, in front of Harry Styles before I fell asleep, holding his hand. No, no, no and no again. That's absolutely not. I can endure humiliation, but not to the same extent. There're limits to everything! Only, it seems, my limits absolutely are lacking, so Liam has decided to finish me off.

\- And I really don't know how he could stand it between the smell and your snoring...

\- Fuck, Liam, shut up.

I want to literally fall into the ground and never get out. I can't believe I could be so dishonored in front of him. And the worst thing is he didn't say a word about what he did. Even Liam would rather leave me to die on the sidewalk than hold my vomit. He did this for me. He stayed with me and he did it for me. Now I understand his upset look, back at the cemetery, when I said I didn't remember anything. He was up all night taking care of me and I slapped him in the face. I deserve a hundred slaps. Yes, damn it, I'm really stupid. The last of all the jerks. Stupid commander of all stupid. The head of the parade of stupid fools. I could call myself stupid for a long time, but Liam interrupts my thoughts. He seems to have come out of shock.

\- Louis, I'm waiting for an explanation. Since when are you gay?

And maybe not. When I went to the coffee shop ten minutes ago, didn't think the conversation will go about my orientation. He's my best friend and even if I don't tell him everything, I need him. It feels like all the fatigue, lack of sleep and stress suddenly fall on me at once. I just feel so empty. I slide to the floor, clutching my head.

\- I'm not gay.

Liam joins me, sitting next to me.

\- So what is it?

\- It's just him.

Only by saying these words I realize how true they are. I'm not gay I'm not attracted to other guys. It's just him. And Liam's reaction surprises me because he's been my best friend since I was a kid and despite his passion for football, he doesn't act like an idiot.

\- I hope you know what you're getting into.

\- I don't know, Liam, that's the problem.

I know nothing. I know absolutely nothing. I don't know what I'm getting into. All I know is that I liked kissing him, that I like his presence and maybe that's why it hurts so much when I find out that Liam hasn't seen him anywhere. He hasn't come to class for this a couple of days.

And I'm probably not only an idiot but also that last narrow-minded one, because I still don't want to relate them.

D-4 THE REJECTION.

10:33 pm.

I lie on the bed with my laptop on my stomach and again continuously look at the forum of conversations of the University. To be more precise, to the page where should have been the profile of Anonym, but not the words NOT FOUND. They went missing six days ago and I know I have to stop deluding myself and admit that "they", are actually "he", but I can't. Something in me refuses to accept it. After all, if I admit it, I'll have to admit the fact that I'm losing not two, but one. Only, I need both of them. I don't know why, but it's. I need both. I've been thinking about it for so long, my head hurts. Looking for aspirin in my desk drawer, I come across a folded piece of paper. I thought I threw it away. But it's here. And damn, it feels so good.

* Congratulate. - H.

I still remember his green eyes and his gray t-shirt. The look we exchanged that day on the field. Those nightmares I had all night because of those girls who said he chained a guy to a radiator. I remember the rumors around his that make him a sick pervert. I'm thinking about our first kiss and the kiss in the cemetery. About his tenderness and how easily he let me kiss him. About how he circled my face with his hands and how his fingers stroked my cheeks, as if soothing. The memories of it, makes my skin crawl. I don't know where these rumors came from, but I refuse to believe them. I cannot. Not after he kissed me that way. I remember the day he took me out of the mirror room at the city festival. About his look and the soothing tone when we came out. About how I ran over the dog and how he petted her, how he talked... Or the day Louis the puppy was born, with my useless help. I remember worry on his face, when the dog was moaning in pain and his smile as he held the puppy in his arms. How he concern for me when I almost fainted. Not to mention the night he took care of me. The rumors about him are bad and cruel. He's much more human than all those people who talk about him behind his back. He's different. My head hurts again. I sigh. That's how I've been spending my time for four days. I'm thinking. Over are over again.

I fold a piece of paper and prepare to put it back, as it dawns on me. I rummage in the drawer, turn over everything I can, before I find it. Flash driver. I can't believe I could forget and I can't believe he forgot, too. He didn't ask me to return it. Never once, since he left it in my car. I hold it in my hands for a long time, considering, because I know that what I'm about to do is wrong. But if he didn't ask to me return it, it means there's nothing except music. And he abandoned me, so... I think that gives me the right. The right to find a good excuse. I insert it, tormented by remorse. I don't like the feeling of invading in his privacy. But now that the shortcut is out, it's stronger than me. No turning back. There're only three files.

MUSIC. I quickly flip through the playlist, there are at least two hundred songs and I don't know half of the bands.

SONG. There's only one audio recording "Don't let me go" by Harry Styles. I turn it on and from the first second, I cannot breathe. Literally. Fuck... I don't know because of his voice or the words... But only when I hear them I realize how much he's in pain. How he's destroyed from the inside. And it fascinates me so much that I click on "replay" to hear it again and again.

The name of the third (and last) folder contains only three letters "SAM". But my brain immediately finds a connection. In memory emerges conversation between Daniel and Eleanor.

_"_ _\- Do you remember his ex-girlfriend? What her name was..._

_\- Sarah?_

_\- No...Um, Samantha!_

_\- Yeah, right, Samantha. People say that she had to leave the university because he turned her life into hell! [...] He walked everywhere for her, send her a ton of messages, he always called her. The poor girl was forced to change university!"_

And their hunch that he might rape her, too. Rumors. Again and again. It's stupid because even though I don't believe it, I'm scared to open the folder. After all, the name is real, it means the rumors aren't completely unfounded. I don't know what I expected, but definitely not THAT. Anything, but aren't that sincere smile on his face.

I'm looking at all the photos. There're hundreds of them, of both of them together and of her alone. She laughs, smiles, grimaces. Samantha is beautiful. She has such a natural beauty that it takes away the gift of speech. I can't stop looking at every picture. Especially the ones where he's with her. I've never seen him so happy. I've never seen such a sincere smile. Harry from the photos has nothing to do with the Harry I know. Harry in the pictures doesn't have the pain in his eyes. There's no sadness on his face. Harry in the photo lives, while the real one survives. And all the rumors about him and Samantha are bullshit. I understand that, now. They were happy together. Between all the photos that appear, I notice a particular one. The only one, where he's alone. I can't take my eyes off him.

I froze. Literally, I froze. I'm stuck in this picture. On his eyes. On his glance. On his smile. On his face, isn't expressing pain. I froze because I think he's beautiful. That's because I want to see him like this every day. And his voice, which on the one-hundredth circle sounds in my room, make me upset. Really. I haven't heard his voice much until now, because he doesn't seem like to talk. He prefers silence, but the few times I heard him, I liked his voice. And now to hear him sing, that is... I don't know. It's inside me. I can't explain it in words. I like to hear he sings. I'm printing a picture. I don't know why, I'm doing it and I know it will probably stay in the printer for a long time, but I'm still doing it.

I keep scrolling through all the pictures and the more I look at them, the angrier I get at the stupid rumors. This is bullshit. They ruin everything in their story. He and Samantha were fucking happy together. They loved each other. You need only to look at them to understand it. The way he looks at her, when she smiles, when she makes faces, doesn't matter, what she does, he always has the same glow in his eyes. I don't know why, but I'm almost feeling jealous... I forget everything when I open the last photo and my heart contracts. That hurts.

It's the cemetery gate by the road. The cemetery where I saw him twice. The cemetery where we kissed for the second time. And now I know why he goes there. I know what's causing his so much pain. For whom he suffers so much that he lies on the grave in the middle of the night with a bottle of vodka in his hand. It's because of Samantha. The song, still playing from the speakers and its lyrics break my heart. Did he write it for her? Does he sing it when he comes to her? Comes to her... Damn. WHY didn't I think of that before? And after five days of pointless waiting, I believe in something. I hope to find him there. I don't think I've ever been so fast in my life. In less than 25 minutes, I'm in front of the cemetery. It's about midnight. His SUV is not here, but the first time he was also without a car. He came on foot. I'm practically running to the grave of Ernest. There's no bottle of vodka. There're no green eyes, looking at the sky. He's not here. Something in me is painfully shrinking and I realize how foolish it was to hope to find him here. I'm so disappointed that I lie down in his place and look at the stars instead of him.

\- Have you seen him? Did he come?

Of course, Ernest doesn't answer me. I'm talking to the grave. To the grave of a guy I don't even know, but I don't care. After all, somehow, Ernest is also connected with our story. I mean, with the little story we had... I feel like I've completely lost everything. Only, lying here, I feel closer to him. To Harry, not to Ernest. So, I lie, I don't know how long, but I'm lying there looking at the stars, seeing his picture in my head. His eyes and his face to fill that void. I get up and look at all the tombstones. Even if he didn't have the courage to lie on her grave, she must be not far away. Not right and not left and directly contrary. The grave is beautiful. It's black and simple, just like the gravestone itself.

_"Samantha Johnson._

_16 June 1995 – 22 August 2012"_

And I'm reflexively looking for a connection between these dates and the 100 days. Maybe it has something to do with her. With her birthday or date of death, something like that, but now is September. It's doesn't make sense. On marble, there're no typical inscriptions, like "Beloved daughter" or "forever in our hearts". No. There's only one phrase engraved on it. A phrase that's remembered forever. A phrase Harry himself could have written.

_"When you live differently, you die differently"_

D-3 THE SHOCK.

It's seven o'clock in the morning when I come back from the cemetery. I'm tired, but I can't sleep. I've never had insomnia. I've always loved to sleep, but after his disappearance, I can't seem to make it. I have slept no more than eight hours these six days. I have too many thoughts in my head. All the time. Every moment. I know I understand that. I know, that I know, I understood that. But that barrier keeps me from admitting it. That block doesn't let me accept it. I don't want to go from "them" to "him". I refuse to relate to them because I need both. There're only three days left and I can't sit idly by. They're gonna do something stupid, I know that, but as long as I have this damn denial, I can't do anything! Lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, I keep replaying it over and over in my head. I get it, then why is it so hard to admit that Harry and Anonym is the same person? I figured it out the day when Anonym helped me with my essay on philosophy. And he totally blew everyone away with Verlaine and Rimbaud. I just closed my eyes on it.

Rimbaud and Verlaine, the freedom of man... Everything is built in a logical chain. I get up abruptly and rummage in the drawers. Damn, here's the way out. I need to hear it from another person. I've kept everything so much inside of me, from the beginning, so it just doesn't seem real right now. I need someone to say it out loud. I need someone to find a connection, instead of me. And I finally understand my fear. If I don't want to admit it, it's because I'm actually afraid of being wrong. Even if it's impossible, I'm scared. I'm scared because I want it. I want it to be him. I want him to be Anonym. I want it to be them. I remember Professor Edwards' strange behavior. The weird way he looked at me when he gave me my essay back. A light smile at the corners of his mouth, as if he knew something. As if he understood. I finally found him. I put on the first available clothes and to the audience. He's already here, always comes early. He's sitting at his desk, reading a book. I throw my essay on his desk. The one I made with Anonym. The one I got my first A+ for.

\- You knew.

It wasn't a question. I see him glancing at the paper before he looks up at me.

\- Mr. Tomlinson, Good morning.

And he looks at me with the same glimmer in his eyes as he did last time. Only I don't want to play riddles. There're only three days left and then it'll be too late. I'm worried. I can't help but go from one leg to another.

\- Who is wrote that essay with me?

I don't care if my question doesn't make sense to him. I don't care if he doesn't understand why I don't know the person I wrote an essay with. I'll cut to the chase. But instead of looking surprised or taking me for a retard, he smiles. With that damn smile, that means "I-know-all-about-it-but-I-wouldn't-tell-you-anything-cause-I-am-an-old-sadist".

\- You already know the answer, Mr. Tomlinson.

\- But I need to hear it. I need to hear it from someone else. Please, Professor Edwards, this is important.

I guess I put all my pain and worry into those words because he gets up from his chair and walks around his desk.

\- Sit down, Louis.

And even if I feel like I'm on the verge of hysterics, I do it. It's the first time he's called me by my name. It's the first time he's ever called someone by their first name. This doesn't bode well. I sit on the first bench. He leans against the table and takes off his glasses. I don't like the way he looks at me.

\- You don't need to hear it, Louis, you need to act. If I'm not mistaken in my calculations, you only have three days left, right?

And then my heart stopped. I feel like I'm falling from a hundred meters and I feel like all my organs are bursting one by one.

\- Wh-what?

I can't talk normally, I'm so shocked. It was my secret, mine and nobody else's. I never thought that someone else might be aware of and especially Professor Edwards, this fool, who loves to humiliate people. I'm completely lost and he realized it.

\- Harry is different.

Really? Thanks, I noticed. I can't believe he knows. I feel betrayed by Anonym. With difficulty recovering, I ask in a trembling voice.

\- How did you know?

He is silent. I can see by his eyes, that he is doubting.

\- Please, Professor, answer me. I don't understand anything anymore.

Catching his eye, I realize he won't tell me anything.

\- The main thing is not how and why I know, but what you will do.

\- But, the thing is I don't know what to do!

It's scary me that I get angry. It's hard for me to stay calm.

\- Mr. Tomlinson, may I ask you a question?

I need not a question, I need an answer. But I know that he won't answer me.

\- Yes.

\- Why is it so difficult for you to understand that it is the same person? Why should I confirm something you already know?

\- That's because I'm scared.

\- What are you afraid of?

\- If I admit that it's the same person, it means that the Anonym is real. And if he's real, it means I might actually lose him.

\- Then save them both.

\- But HOW?

He clears his throat and takes our essay.

\- Do you know why he likes philosophy so much, Mr. Tomlinson?

I don't know where he's going with this. I came here to let him tell me what I wanted to hear, not that he knows everything that's going on. And without explaining anything, as if I'm not already confused enough. I shrug my shoulders. I really don't seem t be able to take anything.

\- He says philosophy is openness of mind and soul. That's without it, life has no meaning.

\- And what do you think?

\- I think Harry is a very smart boy and now I understand why he chose you.

What?! Excuse me?! What is he talking about?! I abruptly stand up.

\- What are you talking about? Chose for what?

What the fuck is going on? I'm gonna explode. I don't know from what. From anger, from misunderstanding, from fear, from everything. And he stands still with his smile, "I-know-all-but-you-don't".

\- I don't have a right to say it.

After that, he turns his back to me, sits down at the table and again plunges into reading. Is he kidding? He really wants me dead. Is that all? Is the conversation over? I will not know anything else? I'm literally choking with disappointment. It feels like everything is running away from me. I don't understand anything. And when I was preparing to leave the audience, clenching my fists, he's even scarier me.

\- He trusts you, Louis, don't leave him.

D-2 THE ANGER.

3:52 pm.

I wake up with a terrible hangover. My head is about to explode. Some blonde girl is lying on top of me. It takes me a few minutes to come to my senses. I sigh and push her away. I get up and slam the bathroom door loudly, hoping she'll wake up and take the hint. I'd spend eternity standing under hot water, trying to remember last night. I know that when I left the audience, I was covered with a wave of disappointment and all the fatigue suddenly fell on me, so I slept almost all day. At night I went to the bar to get drunk. When I came out of the bathroom half an hour later she was still asleep. Is she serious? I'm shaking her unceremoniously.

\- Get out of here. – I ignore the surprise and insult. – Get the fuck out of my room.

Since she doesn't seem to want to understand, I grab her wrist and kick her out, before slamming the door in her face. That'll teach her not to fuck with any guy she meets in a bar. I fall on the bed. Two days left. I haven't been to the classes these days. Missed three practices, ignored all calls from my dad and Liam, not to mention Eleanor's text messages, I haven't seen her since the masquerade ball. I'm taking my computer. I know he's not there, but I'm still checking. NOT FOUND. The MacBook flies through the room and crashes into the wall.

\- Fuck, Fuck up!

I cover my head with pillows. I'm very angry, I don't know why, but I want to blow up everything around me. I explode myself. I blame him. I'm blaming him for disappearing, for lying to me. That's because yes, now, I can't turn a blind eye anymore. Harry is Anonym, and I'm mad at him because he was hiding it. I feel he betrayed me. I feel like he's been bullied from the start. It's infuriating. I feel like an idiot. A fucking idiot. I guessed... And Professor Edwards' phrase still rings in my head. "Now, I understand why he chose you". What the fuck does mean? Why did he choose me? I.Do.Not.Understand. For what? Why me? Anyway, what right did he have to choose me? I didn't ask for anything. I'm not the kind of thing you pick on the counter. I shouldn't have answered for his fucking e-mail. I wouldn't be sitting here right now. Wait, "here", where is that? Nowhere! I'm nowhere. I talked to one guy and kissed another. Only this is the same person. It was cool, it was nice, but that's it. I don't care about him and Anonym. That's not my problem. Fuck him, fuck them both and the Professor too. That's all. Fuck them all... [...] What the hell, he chose me FOR WHAT?

D-1 THE FEAR.

I walk around in my room. My brand-new MacBook just unpacked is already connected to the University forum, if he suddenly appeared. I'm terrified. I have a bad feeling in my stomach and I might vomit at any moment. 99 days. The only one left. Tomorrow. And the feeling that he'll do something stupid, is eating me up inside. I feel helpless. I'm going crazy. If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive myself. Why the fuck did I drink so much that night? Why did I forget about that damn e-mail? One fucking e-mail. WHY did I forget? I promised him. I fucking promised. How could I do that?

100 DAYS. THE CHOICE.

Song: Jason Walker – You're Missing

***

I can't breathe. It's like oxygen is refusing to enter my lungs. The blood freezes in my veins. It is 10:56 pm. I've been standing in front of Samantha's grave for two hours. I didn't sleep last night. I've been driving my car all day, all over London. I can't just sit here. I was in a veterinary clinic, where he wasn't seen for more than a week. I was at his house, where a middle-aged man told me that he hadn't been home for three days. "Mr. Styles often disappears, you don't have to worry." Asshole. 11:11 pm. I'm biting my nails and circling between Samantha and Ernest's graves. Fuck. Come on, Harry... At the end of my strength and hope are gone, I bet everything to find him in the cemetery. What if I'm wrong? What if it's too late? Or maybe he won't do anything at all. Maybe he just came home and slept peacefully. Maybe it's just my imagination and he won't do anything. No. I know. I know, deep inside. I can't explain the pain is killing me. But if it's not the cemetery... Styles, where are you? Stop it. 11:26 pm. The faster time flows, the more it seems to me that I'll lose consciousness. I've never been so scared in my entire life. I feel Samantha's disapproving gaze on me. Yeah, I know I fucked up! My fingers are almost bloody from I was ripping the skin off with my teeth. Samantha, Samantha, help me, you know him better than me... Samantha... FUCK. Why didn't I think of that before? I type her name in the search engine on my iPhone. My hands are shaking. 11:32 pm. There're many links. I click on the first and there's an article from the newspaper, which was released the day after her death. I look through it quickly, I don't care about the details, and I'm looking for certain information. And when I find it, my heart stops. Samantha killed herself by jumping off the Victoria Bridge. This is the bridge I saw him on that night. The bridge's over the highway. The bridge, on the edge of which he stood. 11:36 pm. I'm running. I'm driving at top speed. I don't pay attention to the rules and traffic lights. I can feel my heart breaking in my chest. This is my last chance. It's hard for me to breathe as if my life depended on it. Is it not too late for that? I'm scared. I am afraid.

11:47 pm. He's here. He stands on the edge of the abyss, arms outstretched, like the first time. Only now, he's ready to jump. I can't breathe. The heart stops beating. Time has stopped and nothing else exists. I come closer, I know he heard me, but he didn't turn around. My body is shaking so much it's hard for me to walk.

\- Don't do it.

\- Go away.

\- No.

He's so close to the edge that I can already feel he's falling. I look at his back with his arms apart. I look at his fingers playing with the wind. Silence. Nothing makes sense anymore. With him nothing ever made sense. Fear paralyzes me. There's too much going on in my head right now. I know his eyes are closed. I don't care why. Nothing matters anymore. He chose me and I'm here. I'm not leaving without him. I finally find the answer and it slips from my lips in a quiet whisper.

\- I would save you, - tears roll on my cheeks. – If I had only 100 days to live, I would spend them trying to save you.

\- I can't be saved.

One step and he'll fall. Everything is floating before my eyes. I'm panicking. It's like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice. It's my heartbreaking. It's my organs that are broken down on the concrete.

\- Please, don't do this, Harry.

\- Go away, Louis.

\- No, I'm not leaving without you.

\- It's too late.

\- It's never too late.

\- The 100 days are gone. It's all over.

He spreads his arms even wider and slowly approaches the abyss. The closer he gets to her, the more I feel like I'm dying, but not him. No, it's not all over. It can't end like this! Tears fill the face. I panic and scream. I scream, ripping off voice, two words and one number.

\- Day one!

Hours, minutes, seconds freeze. Nothing exists anymore. There's nothing, but silence around us. It lasts forever. A very long time. An eternity in which he chooses between life and death. An eternity that paralyzes me.

His legs are moving away from the edge, his arms are falling along his body and I know I could reach him. He chose life. He slowly turns his head to me and catching his eyes, I realize that at this second, the countdown has changed. I turned back the time. He decided to give me another chance to save him. My heart starts beating again. Oxygen again enters the lungs and the blood flows through the veins again. 12:03 am. I start breathing again.

** **

**"Don't let me go 'cause I'm tired of feeling alone." (c) Harry**

***

**Because I sent you down on the wrong road.**

**Because you went the wrong way.**

**Because it was just a game.**

**Because it's not the end.**

**It's only beginning.**

**The Degradation starts now.**

_"- What's now?_

_\- Now, you get down from there, for starters."_


	20. Because he's different

Song: Casting Crowns – Who Am I

***

_32 days before the first message._

At 19 years old Harry doesn't spend his free time with friends, doesn't go to parties every Saturday, like all of the young people of his age. No. He's different, he likes to spend time with his philosophy teacher. An old idiot who thinks he knows everything. An old idiot who looks down on everyone. And he is the only person, who has understood him all this time. The only one who managed to create a connection with him. Because sometimes, a PhD in psychology can help. Because he understood his illness. And because Harry loves philosophy. They spend Saturdays together checking tests. Rarely speaking. One sits at his desk, in the center of the audience and the other one on a bench in the front row.

Only that night was different because Harry wasn't feeling well. He was nervous and typing his pen on the table. He couldn't concentrate.

\- What's going on, Harry?

\- Nothing.

And because of knowing he shouldn't be pressured, the Professor continued to check the works. He was waiting. He was waiting because knew he'd come to him if he wanted to talk. He learned to understand him. And once again, he wasn't mistaken.

\- Red. His car is red.

Because that night, without even realizing it, Harry needed to talk.

\- Whose car is red?

\- Louis Tomlinson.

\- And you're worried that it's red?

\- Yeah.

\- Why?

\- Because the Lamborghini of this model doesn't exist in red.

\- And you're worried about it?

\- Yeah.

\- Why?

\- Because I don't understand.

\- Maybe he just wanted to repaint it.

\- But why? If he wanted a red car, why didn't he buy a model that already exists in red?

\- I don't know. He probably wanted a car that was different from the others.

\- Yes, but why?

\- Harry, can you leave that pen alone? She didn't do anything to you.

\- Sorry.

\- That's the second time you've told me about him.

\- No.

\- Yes. Last week, you told me about him, too.

\- But then, it was because he took a Coca-Coke Light in the cafeteria.

\- So?

\- He usually drinks only classic coke.

\- Does it bother you that he decided to change Coca-Cola?

\- Yeah.

\- Why?

\- Because he didn't need to change anything. The machine still had the classic Coca-Cola.

\- Tell me if I'm wrong, but you seem to be watching him very closely.

\- Not always. But yeah, sometimes.

\- Why?

\- Because I hate everything about him.

\- You hate a lot of people, if not everyone. So why him? What attracted your attention?

\- I don't understand him.

\- What don't you understand? And take it easy with that pen, you're gonna break it.

\- Sorry. I don't understand why his car is red.

\- Does it bother you so much?

\- Yeah.

\- Then why don't you ask him?

\- I don't want to talk to him.

\- Why?

\- Because I hate him.

\- Didn't you think you could stop hating him if you just talked to him?

\- No.

\- I think you should talk to him.

\- I don't see the point.

\- If you talked to him, you could, for example, ask why his car is red.

\- I don't care what color his car is.

\- Why don't you want to talk to him, Harry?

\- Because I don't want to.

\- I don't think so. What are you afraid of?

\- Nothing.

\- Then why don't you talk to him?

\- That's because.

\- Do you want to know what I think?

\- No.

\- I'll tell you, anyway. Give me that pen, please. Thank you, now listen. I think you like this boy, Harry.

\- No...

\- Let me finish, please. I don't know why he's special, but there's definitely something about him that attracts you. Then why do you refuse to talk to him?

\- Because I can't.

\- Why?

\- If I talk to him, I risk getting to know him.

\- Is that bad?

\- Of course, it's bad!

\- Relax, Harry. You're trembling again.

\- I can't calm down! You don't understand!

\- What don't I understand?

\- That I can't start talking to him!

\- But why? What scares you?

\- I'm afraid I might like him. He has no right to like me or attract me. He has no right. No right, okay? I can't.

\- Don't nervous. Calm down, Harry, it's okay. That's all right...

\- No, it's not right! I don't...

\- Breathe, Harry. Calm down.

\- I can't calm down! I have no right to like him! I have no right to do this to Samantha!

\- Harry...

\- I can't... I can't do this to Sam...

\- Harry, it's been many months, you must move on. You can't spend your life blaming yourself.

\- I'll always blame myself.

\- Don't close in yourself from others, don't make that mistake. She would want you to be happy.

\- I can't be happy without her.

\- Stop, Harry. Stop blaming yourself for something you're not guilty of.

\- But it's my fault, why can't you understand that?!

\- It's not your fault, Harry. It's NOT your...

\- Of course, it's my fault! All because of me!

\- Come back, Harry. Sit down.

\- NO!

\- It's not your fault! It's not your fault she died...

The last sentence was spoken into the void. The auditorium door slammed shut, knocking over a stack of just-tested papers while tears ran down one man's cheeks. Standing in the middle of the room, the arrogant Professor was once again surprised by the pain of this 19-years-old boy. At the age of 56, with a PhD in philosophy and 25 years of practice, he didn't understand how a person can suffer so much. How a young man can completely destroy himself with remorse? He didn't understand how a man could carry so much guilt. He didn't understand how he, so young, could lose the will to live, so quickly. He wanted to help.

He became attached to this young man. To 19-years-old, hidden, loving philosophy, the illness and destroyed with life teenager. This guy, who suffered so much that he decided not to let anyone near him. He didn't understand how much he could give to others if he opened up to them.

Yeah, he was definitely attached to that poor guy.

The guy, who needed to be fixed.

A weak guy, who needed someone to fix him.


	21. Chapter 10

**"The lack is a destructive feeling. It eats you up inside, turns you inside out and breaks your heart. And the most painful thing is that even a broken heart continues to beat." – Harry**

** **

***

Song: The Calling – Wherever You Will Go

***

He's still standing a meter away from me, right over the void. And it seems to me that eternity still here. I want it to stop. My heart is still beating so fast. I know he's not going to jump, but as long as his feet don't touch the ground, I won't be able to breathe properly. If lightning hadn't split the sly I wouldn't even notice it was raining. Tears blur my vision. I'm crying. And I don't care if I'm crying I want him to come down from there. I want him to be safe. I'm afraid if I move, he'll fall. It's stupid because he can't just fall over, but I'm still scared. I'm afraid to talk. I'm afraid to say something wrong and he'll disappear again. I can't stand this silence anymore. I can't stand seeing him over the void anymore.

\- What's now?

His voice is broken. Rain and tears keep me from seeing his eyes, but I can still feel all his pain and it's eating me up inside.

-Now, you get down from there, for starters. I don't want you to accidentally fall.

Because I didn't go through all of this for anything, I went through this Hell and save him, not so he would stumble inadvertently. He comes down so slowly. I want to pounce on him, grab him by the waist and pull him down myself, but I can't move. And I can't see the end I feel like eternity lasts even longer and only when he jumps off and his feet touch the concrete then my heart literally explodes. The relief I invaded beyond words. I feel all possible and impossible emotions.

I feel so much right now, that I'm still standing for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. I want to hug him, kiss him, hit him, torture him, kill him and kiss him again. To kiss him to better hit him, torture him and kill him. All mixed up in my head. After nine days in hell, I feel like a huge weight is falling off my shoulders. I'm finally starting to breathe normally. I'm crying from relief, want to scream, breaking voice that this horrible nightmare is finally over. I want to yell at him for daring to do this to me. For letting me go through all this. In fact, I want so much, that when he makes a step toward me, I probably pick the worst of all feeling in this situation. The anger. I'm freaking out. I let go of all the anger I've accumulated over all that time and push him on the shoulder.

\- Fucking asshole! – All the fear, all the stress, all the panic that I felt turned into anger. And I can't control it. I yell and push him again. – You had no right to do this to me!

I know it's the last thing he needs right now, but it's stronger than me. I'm taking it out on him, so he'll know how much I've suffered on this week. I want him to pay for the hell I went through. It's raining, we're completely wet, tears are still running down my cheeks, but I don't give a shit. I'm too afraid to lose him again to think about pride. I think he realized I needed it. I need to vent my anger and he lets me do it. He lets me push him, lets me shout, doesn't protesting. I'm pushing him again.

\- Fuck, you had no right to make me go through all of this, damn it!

And I push him, over and over again. And over again. He just staggers a little, every time. I think I pushed and insulted him ten times before I'm exhausted. It's hard for me to breathe and even harder to stop the tears.

The rain increases, we look at each other as if time has stopped again. His wet hair falls down on his forehead and the wet t-shirt became transparent and sticks to the body. His muscles are tense, I know he's waiting for me to push him again, but the pain in his eyes is squeezing my heart. I'm mad at myself. I shouldn't have acted like this. He needs everything except this. But I was so scared for him I don't know how else to react. I don't know how to get rid of fear I'd felt when he was there.

\- Louis...

I can hear in his voice that he blames himself. But I can't calm down. I'm so angry with him. And at myself. I'm angry at the whole world.

We are still, looking into each other's eyes for a long time and I realize I'm mad at him not for what he puts me through. No, it's much worse. I'm angry at him because he wanted to kill himself. Because he wanted to die. Because he wanted to leave me. It makes me hurt. Really hurt. Damn, how could I get so attached to him? To the point of hating him for wanting to disappear. How could I not even notice that? I can't believe I got so attached to him.

\- Louis, I...

\- Shut up! Don't talk to me!

No, I don't want to hear him. Not now. I don't want him to talk to me. I want him to leave me alone. I don't want to get so attached to him. I don't want to depend on anyone. It's scary. I don't love anyone, I don't need anyone. Except for Liam, but it's different and besides girls for the one night, but it's different too. I don't want to need him. I don't want to be afraid of someone like that. I don't want to. I can't. I can't depend on anyone. No. Fuck, I'm mad at him. I blame him for everything. I blame him for attached me to him and wanted to die. I'm just mad at him for getting me into all of this, so then he could leave me.

\- Louis...

-NO! SHUT UP! – and I punch him in the chest. I know he doesn't hurt, he's stronger than me. And even if he's in pain I don't care. I'm in pain too. – What the hell did you do that for?!

\- Stop it.

Only I'm not stopping. I hit him again.

\- What was your purpose? What fucking purpose?! Why? You wanted me to feel as bad as you?! – and the more I hit him, the more I need to hit him again and the more I need to hit him again, the angrier I get. – You're a selfish fucking asshole! I hate you!

\- Louis, calm down.

\- No, I won't calm down! – I can't calm down because I hate him. I hate for wanted to die. – You're the last asshole! You have no right to do that! What would you do if I came later?! – and I hit him again. – You'd be dead, damn you!

I know my words bring more pain than punches, but he takes both without saying anything. I think I want him to suffer as much as I did. I guess I look like the last hysterical, but I don't care. I'm freaking out. And he stands and silently gives me let out my emotions. Wait, for me to get tired.

And I'm getting tired because I'm really tired. I'm tired physically and mentally. Because I was so scared that it's hard for me to understand that he's alive and well. Because I can't take it anymore. I can't take any more of this. Because I've never been so afraid in my entire life. Because... I'm attached to him and I don't want to lose him. I'm not ready for that. My punches are getting weaker and weaker and as I have no strength left, without warning, without expecting it, I begin to tantrum. Literally. I start to cry in his arms. Leaning my forehead against his chest, I whisper softly, because I don't have the strength to scream anymore.

\- You'd be dead... If I hadn't come on time, you'd be dead...

The pronunciation of these words breaks my throat because I understand how true they are. If I hadn't come in time, he'd be dead. He's silent because it's true. If I hadn't come, if I hadn't found him, he'd be dead. Smashed on concrete. Dead. Just thinking about it makes my body tremble and I feel his arms around me. I hold on to his waist he puts his chin on the back of my head and pulls me closer. I close my eyes, burying my nose in his chest. He rocks me and strokes my back to calm me down. And I need to feel it. I need those touches to know he's really here. That he's not dead. And I don't care that I'm soaked to the skin that I can get pneumonia, that I cry and I may seem weak. I don't care because he's alive and I can hear his heart beating against my cheek. I don't care about anything because he's not dead.

Silence and eternity envelop us again, but this time, I don't want them to stop. I want them to continue. For long. I want to stay in his arms and get pneumonia because I've been standing in the rain for too long. I want eternity to go on because I'm afraid to let him go. I'm afraid if walk away he'll regret his choice. That he would step back and jump in front of my eyes. I've never been as weak as I am now. I'm lost because I never thought I'd survive anything like this. That I would save a human life. So I want eternity to go on. I need this to make sure I actually saved him. Because after everything I've been through, I feel good in his hands. But he's cold. He just whispered it. Two words.

\- I'm cold.

Just like that. Without another word, as if that was the most appropriate thing at the moment. Like if it's okay to pay attention to that. He stood over the precipice 15 minutes ago. And the worst thing is that he's actually cold. His skin is icy and when I raise my head to look at him, I notice that his lips are blue and trembling.

And only now I understand. I know he must have been standing here for hours. Fear takes hold of me and the body trembles again treacherously. How long has he been here? How many hours did he stand on that bridge, waiting for death? Scary pictures appear again before my eyes and anger, again, makes itself felt.

\- You're cold... - my voice breaks and I get out of his embrace. – Are you cold?! Damn it, how long have you been standing here wondering if you should live?

\- Since morning.

And he answers so calmly that my blood freezes in my veins again. We're fucking talking about his death. I've been looking for him all day in London and he was standing here, ready to jump, every second. I can't stop imagining that see him standing on the edge, waiting to die. I realize that since this morning I could have lost him at any moment. I move away from him, my body trembling. I think I'm gonna throw up. That's harsh. Too cruel. What if he jumped at two in the afternoon? Or when I was at the cemetery with Samantha? His heart could stop beating at any moment and it's so much pain that when he takes a step toward me, I push him away.

\- No.

\- Louis...

\- NO! Don't touch me.

No, I can't. It's too hard to accept.

\- I'm really sorry.

And the thing that hurts me the most is that when as I looked into his eyes, I see he was sorry for what he'd put me through, but he's not sorry that he wanted to die. I feel like I'm getting punch after punch because even if he didn't jump today, he still wants to die. I don't want him to want that. He has no right to die. Not now. Not after he came into my life and turned everything around. It's cruel and I'm mad at him again.

\- You're sorry... You're sorry?!

And I'm so angry that I could repeat it a third time, but instead, I hit him, fist to the chest. Only, I forgot completely to compress the fingers. I hit so hard that I'm screaming in pain, jumping on the spot.

\- Fuck, aw, aw, damn, fuck, what's under your t-shirt? Is that where you keep the metal?! Damn it, aw, it hurts.

And the more I shake my hand, the more it hurts. This is the perfect time to hurt my hand. Exactly now. And damn, it really hurts. He comes closer.

\- Show me.

\- No, don't touch me. You've done enough for today.

I know he's worried, but I'm angry. And the fact that I'm in pain makes me angrier.

\- Damn, you broke your finger.

\- Come on, I didn't break...

I look down at my hand and see a fully arched little finger. Literally. It's purple and it's arched and I'm dizzy and I'm going to vomit and...

\- I broke my finger. My finger is broke. It's arched. My finger is arc...

\- Calm down, I'll take you to the hospital.

\- What are you...

He drags me to the car. To the passenger seat of MY car. No, no, no and no. No way. No.

\- Are you crazy? You're not driving MY car!

\- You can't drive.

\- I can!

\- No, you can't.

\- I can!

\- Louis, for God's sake.

\- No.

Okay, I'm acting like a child. Everything looks unreal. Recently, he wanted to kill himself and now I have a broken finger and we're arguing about who'll drive the car. We have reached the maximum level of surrealism. I don't know I'm not used to going through things like this. It's not every day I save a guy, who wanted to throw himself off a bridge. I mean, I don't know how it usually goes, but I was expecting something more dramatic. Like the passionate kiss in the rain, like in the movies. Yes, but in movies, the hero has a script and he does not break the finger. Also, he's not standing in front of Harry Styles. Harry Styles, who I saved a life. Harry Styles, who looks at me with a worried look, but who isn't at all concerned that he could be dead right now. No, looks like some idiot's broken finger is more important. Harry Styles, who even with a script and 1192 instructions would still be the same incomprehensible.

\- Louis, stop talking nonsense. You need to go to the hospital.

Only Louis is so lost in all this that he decided to be even stupider than usual and reach the top of stupidity. After I hit him, yelled at him, broke my finger, I decided to take offense. Yes, now. I resent him like a little kid because I don't know what to do. Because my brain refuses to work properly and my finger hurts. In fact, I'm in so much pain I'm going to pass out. He holds the door open and waits for me to sit down.

\- Louis, please.

Don't fucking look at me like that. I'm actually offended. Yeah, and in the end, I don't have to talk to him, I can be offended silently. Only when he gets behind the wheel of MY car, it gets stronger than me.

\- I swear to you if you screw up Roxy, I'll...

\- Roxy?

\- Yeah, Roxy.

\- Did you give your car a name?

\- Ahh, shut up.

I hold my hand against my chest and try not to look at it. Because if I ever see my finger again, which is completely don't look like a finger at all, I risk actually fainting. So I'm looking at Harry. That's not my fault. I can't look at anything else. He's focused on the road, his wet, white t-shirt still sticking to his body. He's beautiful. Really. And it doesn't seem strange to me. I turn on the heat because his lips are still trembling.

\- Are you okay?

\- No. It hurts me. Next time remind me not to hit you when I'm angry.

\- When else can you hit me, if not when you're angry?

There's a smile at the corner of his mouth and it makes me mad. So instead of answering, I grumble loudly, turning to the window. I mentally scold all living things, because everything had to happen completely wrong.

_Because my arm hurts and because he could die and my arm hurts and he didn't die, because I managed to stop him and my arm hurts and because I don't want to think about saving someone from dying and my arm hurts and I'm scared, because he might try again and my fucking arm hurts! And thank God I'm grumbling in my head because if I said it out loud I wouldn't have enough breath. And I look at him again._

In less than fifteen minutes, we're at the hospital. He parks right in front of the door like we have an emergency. But I'm really in hurt, so I don't say anything. He seems very tense. His features became more rigid. I follow him silently. He tells me to sit down while he talks at the front desk. I don't know what he said or did, but in ten minutes, a nurse came for me. I pass before already sitting here, eight people. I'm lying on the bed and I try not to look at the nurse, who's exploring my finger, or I'll throw up. He's in the room with me. And when she told that my finger is dislocated, that it has to be put back in place and that it might be a "little painful", I turn into the worst whiner in the world. I don't like the pain I don't like being hurt, so I grab his hand. I squeeze as hard as I scream when the bitch abruptly puts my finger back into place. Fuck, it hurts so much that I feel like I'm gonna faint. He yells at her. He's telling her to give me a double dose of painkillers "im.media.tely" and seeing his gaze I would have done all that he requires. I don't let go of his hand when the needle enters my arm.

\- You okay?

\- No.

I'm in pain and I must be as pale as death because I'm really fucked. Really. Like the time I got drunk and almost had a seizure. He gently squeezes my hand.

\- The painkillers will quickly take effect. You'll feel better soon.

And I don't take my eyes off him while she's getting a splint, and he doesn't take his eyes on the splint, which are putting on me, until the moment... he's not beginning to be angry. He was right, the painkillers worked quickly because I have absolutely no idea what's going on. I see him kicking the poor girl out of the room, calling her incompetent, grumbling under his breath, and he starts putting a splint on my hand by himself. Wow, I'm dizzy. I feel like I'm really high. I feel like I'm flying, it doesn't hurt at all and I smile like an idiot. I don't know what kind of drugs she gave me, but it's absolutely awesome.

\- Where did you learn to do that?

\- At the veterinary clinic.

\- Do you think I look like a dog?

And even if he doesn't answer, I see a smile on his face. He's focused on what he's doing and I trust him. He does it very carefully, as if afraid to hurt me. Unlike that asshole in the white coat. And I smile. Again. Damn, I'm really high. I feel light. I want to laugh, this situation is so funny. Harry Styles puts a splint on my finger, which I broke on his chest, the night I saved his life because he learned to do it on dogs. Weirder than ever.

\- That's it. – he finished and looked up at me, frowning. – How are you feeling?

\- Amazing. Really awesome.

A little too much. I smile and he doesn't seem to like it. He looks annoyed but doesn't say anything. He helps me to stand up, wrapping his arms around my waist. I don't really need it, but I'm not gonna pull away. We take two steps and my legs give way. Okay, I'm literally leaning on him while he's filling out some paperwork at the front desk. And it amuses me, because, firstly: the blonde looks at us strangely and then secondly: I can put all my weight on him as much as I want, but he will not move a millimeter. So I swing from side to side, pushing him little harder each time just to see if he'll move. And he seems to like it, too, because he squeezes my waist tighter every time I do it like he's saying stop, but I can clearly see him holding back a smile. I think I needed these painkillers not only for my finger but also for my mind. I needed to forget everything and feel light. He's finishing filling these ... I don't know what and I don't care, I prefer to look at his curls still wet from the rain.

We're almost dry. His skin is warm and he's not cold anymore. We got to the exit, he still holds me and I want to kiss him. Here. In the emergency room, the largest hospital in London, in front of everyone. One thing I've learned today is that painkillers are the best thing in the world. Only now the cold voice, sounding behind us, spoils everything.

\- Harold!

I feel him stiff and clench his teeth before he slowly turns around.

\- Dad.

His voice is hard and I look up to see his father. His father in a white coat with a surgeon's license plate on it. His father's facial features, as hard as the last time. This man scares me. I take a step back by inertia only Harry's hand is holding me tighter to him.

\- When they told me you were here, I tried getting free as fast as I could.

\- Not fast enough.

\- Don't start, Harold.

I'm not in the best condition of course, but this conversation seems very unpleasant, especially for Harry. His father looks at me and I want to fall through the ground because I don't like his look. He doesn't seem to like that I hug his son, so I'm trying to move away, except that Harry doesn't allow me to do it. He pulls me closer to him, haughtily looking at his father, who, by the way, clenches his teeth.

\- Mister...Tomlinson. That's right?

Only I'm not able to answer normally. Actually, painkillers aren't the best thing in the world. It just sucks. He looks at me more closely and I feel totally uncomfortable.

\- Am I wrong or is your friend under the influence of drugs, Harold?

\- No, you're right. He's completely high. Your damn interns are incapable of injecting a normal dose of painkillers. And make a proper splint, too.

I want to protest. To say, that I'm not high. But I'm c.o.m.p.l.e.t.e.l.y. high, so I keep silence. I just want to get out of here. Go away from his father, who scares me. And I want it so much that I don't even pay attention to what they say to each other. He seems to be scolding him for kicking the nurse out of the room, who then came and complained. But he doesn't care. I can still feel his tension.

\- We're leaving.

I don't know which one of us he talking to, but he turns around, squeezing me tighter as we walk to the exit.

\- Harold, don't leave in the middle of a conversation, we're not done!

Looks like they're actually done because we're already outside. I can hear his mumbling a quiet "Asshole". We get back in the car, but this time, I don't mind when he opens the door for me. I'm high, so I can't drive, especially with a splint on my finger. So his dad is a doctor. Now I understand better why we were accepted so quickly and why the nurse didn't shut him up when he kicked her out of the room. I remember the fight in the parking lot, how much he didn't want to go to the hospital. It was probably because he didn't want to see his father there, but his father was home that night. Ahh, I don't understand anything. Because of these damn painkillers, I can't think normally.

\- I'm tired.

\- I'll take you to campus.

I'm almost asleep when he stops at the university parking lot. He backs me again and when we enter the room, he helps me take off my shoes. I've never been shy, between football locker rooms and sharing a shower with other team members, I'm already used to it. And to be honest, I'm not in a condition to worry about anything right now. I take off my sweater and jeans before I flop down on the blanket. I don't know if it's because of painkillers, lack of sleep or all that stress, but I feel completely exhausted. The euphoria I felt at the hospital has already disappeared and now, I just want to sleep. Through heavy eyelids, I see how he covers me with a blanket. But when he gets ready to leave the room, I open my eyes abruptly.

\- Stay.

I said it quite thoughtlessly. He looks at me doubtfully.

\- Louis, I don't think that's a good idea. You... You need to rest.

Yes, but I need his presence even more. I spent nine days thinking I had lost him, I saw him almost die today and I'm afraid. I don't want to let him go now. I don't want him to disappear again. I need him to stay with me. And as a last resort, I can blame the painkillers, knowing well they had nothing to do with it.

\- Sleep with me. – he stands motionless. I don't know what's going on in his head, but I think he's scared. – Please, Harry.

I guess he finally understands my fear because he's coming back to me. I feel so relieved, even though he only takes off his shoes. I don't care, he stays here with me and that's the most important thing. I lie back down and he lies down next to me. Our heads are on the same pillow and we look into each other's eyes. Our shoulders are touching and I remember that night in the cemetery. Time stops again and nothing exists. It's just us, the silence and his green eyes. Our faces are so close that I can feel his breath on my lips. He intertwines our fingers under the blanket and his fingers play softly with mine. We've enveloped in eternity again. I can't even close my eyes, because if I close them, I feel like he might disappear.

\- I...I...

My voice trembles too much. I would like to tell him everything I have felt these nine days, to describe the fear that I experienced when I saw him on the void, but I don't have the strength. I think he understood without words because he releases my hand and raises his hand above me.

\- Come here.

Without thinking, I cling to him, resting my head on his shoulder and my hand on his heart. He wraps his arms around my body and holds me tight. I know I should be worried about the fact that I'm half-naked and he's a guy, but you have no idea how much I don't care. Because it's him because his hand is gently stroking my hair and I can feel his heart beating under my fingers. Because it's 3 hours 28 minutes, it's 101st days and he's still alive.

***

When I woke up a few hours later, he was gone. But something was in his place. My computer and even before I opened it I understood: if he is gone, returned Anonym.

_"1?"_

_"Yes, 1. And this is just beginning."_

In nine days – I've lost everything. In one night – he gave back everything to me.

***

I don't know why I came back here. Only putting my hands on the railing, my head is already beginning to spin. But it's stronger than me. I need to see that chasm. I need to see the concrete he almost lost his life on, yesterday. I need to know how he felt when he was here. I don't have the courage to stand on the edge like him. I'm afraid. I'm afraid he'll come back one day. I'm afraid I won't be on time. I'm afraid to not save him. So I pull the marker out of my pocket and write. Just two words. Two words that will make him think of me if he wants to do it again. Two words to show him that he's not alone anymore, that I'm here and that I'm not leaving him. Two words that won't let him leave me again.

I'm writing two words. Two words that mean _"I'll save you one more time"._

_Don't jump_

_ _

***

**"And even not despite fear. Even though it hurts. I'm glad my heart is still beating." - Harry**


	22. Because he needed it

Day 103

"Hi Sam, it's me...

I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I couldn't. I was scared to come and talk to you. It's scary because I know you won't answer me and I don't want to hear the silence. I don't want to wait for an answer that won't come. It hurts too much. I miss your voice, Sam. I miss everything. I don't think you realize how much I miss you. I tried. I tried to be strong, but I can't. I think about you all the time. You never get out of my head and I barely sleep. Because when I close my eyes, I see those pictures again. They always make themselves felt as if forbidding me to forget my mistakes. I'm tired, Sam, I can't anymore. I fucked up, really fucked up. I'm doing God knows what and I'm in so much pain, I don't know how to handle it. Every day is worse and worse. I just want the pain to stop. I just don't want to suffer like this. Three days ago, I wanted to join you. All day looking for the courage to do it, but could not. See how pathetic I am? I can't even control my own death. It feels like everything is slipping through my fingers. Nothing makes sense since he came into my life. He turned everything. I'm lost. His name is Louis and he smiles all the time. His smile is beautiful.

If only you could see him, Sam, his smile. It's so beautiful that burns from the inside. I love when he smiles. He's the reason I didn't jump. Because of his smile, I didn't want it to go out. Such smiles shouldn't go out. Yours wasn't supposed to go out either, Sam. I miss your smile and it's my own fault for losing it. I don't want him to lose his because of me. And I think deep inside, I want him to smile. He plays football. Not even, he's the captain of the University team and his car is red. You'd probably hate him. I hated him at first, too. But he's different. He's not afraid of me. He's not running away from me. Moreover, he even sometimes beats me, well, or tries to do it. I don't know why he does it, but I like it. So, I think he isn't indifferent to me. He reminds me of you sometimes. You always pushed me, when you were angry, too, and that was very cute. I find pieces of you in him. I like him, Sam. I really, really like him and I'm mad at myself because I think I'm betraying you. I can't do this, Sam. I can't love anyone, except you. But there's something about him... I don't know. He attracts me. Do you think it's possible to love two people at the same time? I don't know what I feel about him, but I'm pretty sure when he's around, it doesn't hurt so much, it feels a little easier to live. I think I need to tell you about him.

I want you to know him, not like the others, but the way I see him. Maybe if you get to know him through me, you won't be too angry that I treasure about him. Honestly, I hate myself so much for it. So I want you to treasure him, too. I think about you all the time, but sometimes I think about him and I'm mad at myself for it. I have no right, Sam. I have no right to think about him, in that sense. I must think only of you. But he's in my head and I don't know how to get him out. _I don't want to get him out. _I think I need him. Maybe if you liked him, I could think of him without feeling guilty. He's not what he seems, Sam. He's not an idiot football player like all those guys we've always hated. He's different. He crosses arms when annoyed and when he's nervous, he talks fast and indistinctly. You can't imagine how fast he can talk. His words may not always make sense, but he has a soft voice. It soothes me like did yours. He probably doesn't like silence, that's why he talks so much. He frowns when he's upset or doesn't understand something and bites his lip when he concentrates. He has little wrinkles on the corners of his eyes when he smiles. They're blue. His eyes, they're blue and I've never seen eyes as bright as his. They're shiny. They shine with something that we have lost for a long time ago. Innocence. I like his glance, Sam, it's pure. It's not lying. He told me a story one night. Did you know the E.T. was a friend of Superman? I didn't know it, but in his world it was. I want him to tell me more stories, just to hear his voice. I want to be part of his world, Sam. I want to protect him. I don't want to let life destroy what shines in his eyes.

I want to protect him. But three days ago, when I wanted to jump the light in his eyes no longer burned. He looked at me the same way you did when you were worried about me. I'm afraid, Sam. I'm afraid to destroy him as I destroyed you. What if the only way to save his smile is to stay away from him? I couldn't protect you. I don't want to fail him. I know the best thing for him, would be distance myself from him, but I can't. It's too late now.

When I wanted to jump, he did what I couldn't. He came on time. I blame myself if you only knew how much. If I had seen your message earlier, would you be here now? I know the answer and it's very difficult to accept. I'm sorry, Sam, I'm so sorry I couldn't save you then. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'll never forgive myself. I feel bad inside and I deserved it. I deserved this pain. You lost your life because of me. Because I wasn't around. Please forgive me, Sam. I need your forgiveness.

You see why I didn't have the courage to come to you before because you can't answer me. Because I can't stand any silence. I want to hear your voice again. I've spent more nights here, in this cemetery than in my own bed. I was lying on the opposite grave and thought you'd feel less alone if I was there. But I think I was the only one who actually needed it. I needed to feel close to you. I've been here for two hours and you're still so far away. I have this constant emptiness in me, Sam. This emptiness that hurts me and it's even harder than silence. I feel like I'm waiting for something that's had never gonna happen. I don't even know what I'm really waiting for. Probably, the disappearance of pain. Do you think I will survive? I feel like I've already lost.

I want to try, Sam. I want to try to rebuild myself. I want to try to fill that void. I want to live. You'll always be a part of me, a part of my heart. You're in every thought I have, every move I make. You're everywhere. You're part of my life. You're in my memories, but I think... I think I want a future, Sam. I don't know if I could do it. _But his smile is worth it to try._

Louis made me want to believe in something. I don't know what yet, but right now I just want to believe.

I want to believe that he can save me.

The sun will rise soon, I'm tired. I'm gonna go home. But I'll be back, Sam, tomorrow and all the next days.

Finally, I'm not afraid to wait for an answer that won't come.

I just need to feel your presence.

See you tomorrow.

I love you, Samantha.


	23. Chapter 11

**Euripides wrote: "Silence is a confession"**

**Silence is cowardice. It's the weakness of words. Silence is not a choice. It's just the only thing that stays when the words go away. (c) Harry**

** **

***

Song: The Fray – Never Say Never

***

_"5"_

And I'm waiting in front of my computer screen. Again. He hasn't answered for four days and he hasn't come to class either. Try not to worry too much because I see that every day he reads my e-mails, but... It's stronger than me, I can't stop being afraid of him. He's in my dreams every night, although it is rather nightmares than dreams. Because I always see him standing on the bridge. I'm afraid he might do it again any second, but I don't dare press him. I convince myself that if he doesn't answer and doesn't come to classes, it's only because he needs time. After all, it must be difficult for him, too. Especially for him, actually. He was ready to die. Goosebumps run through my body when I remember that for a hundred days, every time I wrote to him, he was one step closer to death. My hands are practically shaking. He's still alive. I don't know what's going on in his head, but if he's actually lived a hundred days with the belief that he's going to die, and then being alive for him today must be... I don't know. But I'm actually asking myself how he feels. I'd like to talk to him, ask him, but I can't do it. He's so secretive I don't want him to close himself even more to me. I don't know what to do at all and to be honest I don't even think I have the strength to talk about it. It was too hard and it hasn't been so long that talking about it didn't bring so much pain. And I don't think he wants to talk about it. If I were him, I wouldn't want either.

My eyes are still focused on the screen. And I understand that I doubt because I don't know how to address him. Now that I know that Anonym is Harry, should I talk with him as before or should I use his name? I don't know what to do. Maybe that's why he's not answering, maybe he doesn't know either. I start typing _"Hello, Harry."_ I sigh. It's horror. It sounds completely fake. I delete and re-enter.

_"I want to watch a movie."_

_"Me, too"_

_"Choose."_

_"The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?"_

_"N.E.V.E.R."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because"_

_"You don't like horror movies?"_

_"No."_

_"Are you afraid?"_

_"Absolutely not"_

_"Then why don't you like them?"_

_"Because"_

_"You're afraid of."_

_"NO!!"_

_"Yes, you are."_

_"Don't you want to watch the Ice Age? The Ice Age is charming. In the Ice Age, no one dismembers people."_

_"I'd love to watch the Ice Age."_

And I smile for the first time in five days. Because he's here because the best way to address to him is to do it in our way. Because we both need to go back to the way things were. We need to reconnect, feel each other again. We don't need to change. We watched a movie together, laughed at Sid. I mean, I laughed, but I think he did, too. Then I was indignant because, for him, I had a feeling that from somewhere will jump out the killer with a chainsaw. Because... Yes, I'm scared to death of horror movies, WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL? He said we're safe because we're not in Texas. Yeah, but psychopaths are everywhere. So I had to screw him two or three times. I said it would be his fault if I was found dead and cut to pieces because he had jinxed me.

After "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre", we moved on to the discussion of "Scream". From "Scream" to "I Know What You Did Last Summer". From "I Know What You Did Last Summer" to Freddie Prinze Jr. From Freddie Prinze Jr. to Sarah Michelle Gellar, and from Sarah Michelle Gellar to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". We could talk for a long time if it wasn't so late.

It's 4:03 am and I have to get up in three hours. Tomorrow I will look like death. I'm sure I'll have nightmares about ugly guys in scary makes, looking to kill me, but I don't care. I don't care, because now I know that his favorite TV series is "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and that he's always wanted to be a vampire hunter, because in the TV series, when they stick a stake in their hearts, they turn to dust and he's intrigued because it's physically impossible. Yes, tomorrow I'll be tired and probably mentally unstable because of dreams in which my body is cut into pieces, but... I really don't care, because I found him and, damn it, I really missed him. I never called him "Harry", but there was a picture of him next to me. The one I printed out, I don't know why. It's folded at four, smeared with something and crumpled because I keep it opening and closing it. I've been carrying it for four days.

It's silly and too snotty, but I always need a piece of him with me. I mean I've been without news for so long or I haven't seen him for so long, that I need something that reminds me of him. I think deep down, I jealous his smile for the photo. I want him to smile at me like that. Not just on a piece of paper... It's official. I'm turning into a girl. Fuck. Spit. I want to see him smile.

***

I see his green eyes, feel his body on mine. His breath on my face and the warmth of his touch. I feel good.

\- Louis... - he's gentle and his lips are soft. I want him. I can feel the knot tightening in my lower abdomen. – Lou...

\- Mmmh.

We're still separated by a sheet and I want to move on. He looks at me and smiles.

\- Baby...

He kisses me and his tongue tastes like strawberries. I'm frowning. Why do I feel strawberries? His tongue has a mint flavor, not the strawberry. He's too rough. His thighs are too thin. His hands-on my torso is scratching me. The nails are too long. His face is slowly removed and it's a nice feeling completely evaporated. I try to get rid of her mouth and suddenly wake up. I move back on the bed and hit my head against the wall.

\- Fuck, El, what the hell are you doing here?!

I get up quickly, breathing heavily. I didn't feel Harry's body, I felt hers. She's lying on me in her underwear, biting my lip.

\- I missed you.

I'm having a hard time coming round. I'm still half-asleep. Fully wake up only when she rubs her hips against my erection and I push her shoulders.

\- Stop it. – only I forgot that if she has an idea in mind, she cannot be stopped. She arches her back, stroking my torso. – Fuck, stop!

\- Come on, Lou, it's been a long time...

\- How did you get in, at all?!

\- You didn't lock the door.

She shrugs innocently, still stroking me. I try to push her away again.

\- Get out, Eleanor.

\- Come on, Louis, don't tell me you don't want me.

\- No.

I don't want her. She puts a little pressure on my cock through the sheets and I can't hold back the moan. Damn. I have not slept with anyone for a long time and the recent dream has excited me very much. It's hard to resist.

\- I can see you want it.

No, I don't. I mean, yes I do. But, no. Not with her.

Do not have time to understand how she already pulls a sheet and begins to sink lower are lower. She breathes into my navel and I automatically arch. This is my weak point and she knows it. She kisses it again and I arch again. I don't like her smug smile. She looks like she's won again. I'm trying to push her away.

\- St...op. El... - too late. Her mouth is already on my cock and I grab the headboard of my bed, closing my eyes. – Fuck.

I could never resist her blow job. And seeing how my body reacts, I really missed sex. I stop resisting. I'm a guy, after all, and no guy could resist that girl's mouth. With my lips breaks moan and in the mind immediately appear these green eyes. I represent him, in Eleanor's place. I imagine his lips on me, his hands on my body. Because of this picture, I push my hips so hard that Eleanor raises her head in surprise to look at me. For a moment open my eyes to immediately close them. I don't want his image to disappear.

\- Continue.

And I grab her to set the rhythm. She goes back to work and I imagine green eyes. What the hell am I going? This is a bad thing. When I really realize what's going on, I push her away. Eleanor doesn't understand and I'm having trouble breathing.

_I can feel his lips on me. His lips._

I can't do that, it's too much, even for me. I can't sleep with someone thinking about another person. We should stop. What in God's name is wrong with me? I open my eyes and look at Eleanor. I keep saying her damn name over and over in my head. Eleanor. Eleanor. Eleanor. Not Harry. Eleanor. Eleanor.

\- Louis, everything okay?

Eleanor, Eleanor, Eleanor.

\- It's fine.

It's awful. I grab her by the back of her head and kiss her in the mouth. The taste of strawberries disgusts me. Eleanor. Eleanor. Eleanor. I'm practically ripping off her underwear. Even it disgusts me. I'm tougher than usual and it makes her moan. Her moans are too shrilly. Eleanor. Eleanor. Eleanor. I put her on the bed pull out the condom from the drawer by the bed and quickly penetrating her. She moans at every move I made. I bury myself in her neck and close my eyes to somehow muffle these sounds. She scratches my back and I don't feel any pleasure. I just can't. From anger, I speed up the rhythm, clenching my teeth, but still, feel nothing... And all of a sudden... and suddenly his green eyes appear in my mind, his lips, his smile, his hands, I imagine him naked. I try to remove his image, repeating the name Eleanor again and again, but it's not working. He's here, in front of me. And I don't know why, but I focused exactly on his hands. I never thought about his hands before, but now they're driving me crazy. His hands. His hands-on me and after a few minutes, I can feel my body starting to tremble, as much as Eleanor's. I feel a strong spasm and I bite my lip almost to the blood, so as not to shout his name. The name of the man, who's just given me the strongest orgasm of my life.

Without forces, I'm falling on Eleanor. Then I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling. We're both getting our breath back. She's as shocked as I am. She's never screamed so loud before, and I... I still don't understand what happened. I am... I'd cum thinking about the guy. And most importantly, nothing turned me on like thinking about him naked.

\- Wow, Lou, that was... Just wow.

I'm so shocked I don't even make a comment about a nickname. I take the condom off and throw it in the trash. I put on my boxers and look at her. She lies completely naked, breathing heavily and with a pink blush on her cheeks. Just a fucking fantasy of all the guys on campus. She's beautiful, I can't deny it, but seeing her here disgusts me. I didn't want to have sex with her. She has no right to barge into my room like that. What's happening to me? I shouldn't be disgusted to see a gorgeous girl, like El, in my bed. I shouldn't think about a guy while having sex with the hottest girl at the University. But the longer I look at her, the more she disgusts me. She looks like a whore. That's who she always was, actually, but I don't know why it suddenly started to bother me.

\- Get out.

She gets up on her elbows.

\- Excuse me?

\- You heard me. Get out of my room, El.

\- Is this a joke?

\- Do I look like I'm joking?

\- What the hell, Lou?!

\- Don't call me Lou. – I scratch the tip of my nose, sighing irritably. I feel like she's about to throw a tantrum and that's the last thing I need right now. – Look, El, it's not about you. I just... I just need to be alone.

I try to control my tone so I don't get angry. But it doesn't seem to work. I grab her hand and, literally by force, putting on her a long cloak. I don't care if she's naked under it. She came here, so she can easily go the same way. I don't think it'll hurt her psyche.

\- Damn it! You're a real asshole!

\- What news! Goodnight, Eleanor.

I slam the door in her face and, not forgetting to lock it, lean against the wall.

I think I've never been in the shower for so long in my life. As if the hot water could clean me, make me forget Eleanor's caresses. Leaning my hands on the wall tiles, I lowered my head, letting the water flow down my neck, but I still don't understand what just happened. I... I'd cum thinking of Harry. I think it scares me. I like him, no question. Something about him attracts me, I like to kiss him, but imagine him during sex... Imagine him instead of a girl... This... I'm not ready for this. I never realized before that I was so attached to him. No. I'm totally unprepared. It gives me the creeps. Does he feel the same way about me? I know we kissed, but... Does he want more? Or, did he ever imagine me, at least? Maybe he doesn't like me that way. Samantha was a girl, after all. I know there's a rumor that he tied a guy to a radiator or something, but I refuse to believe them. For me – this is silly and unfounded rumors. But he could sleep with guys, right? Is he bi? I don't know. I don't know much about him.

Who am I? I'm not bi and I'm definitely not gay, I'm sure. I'm not attracted to guys. Only him. No, I know who I am. I'm straight + Harry. You can say that, right? You can, because it's true. I'm attracted to girls and him. So, I'm straight + Harry.

But I was with a girl this night and wasn't attracted to her at all. So it's ONLY him. So what am I? Just +Harry? I don't want to. I'm afraid to. I don't want to be just +anyone. I don't know what it's like to be +someone, so I don't want to be +Harry. But... I think deep down, I like the idea. +Harry.

And the more I think about it, the more pictures come into my head. I'm picturing him again. That's stronger than me. I can't control that. I imagine him naked again. His body is beside mine. He's behind me, in this shower. Imagine his hands on me. I'm totally obsessed with his hands. I imagine the water running down his torso, his lips around my neck. I didn't even realize I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I saw that was my hand, that I was touching myself. Imagine his hand instead of mine. He strokes me, kisses my back, and whispers something. He acts tenderly, slowly, not so sharply and rudely, like Eleanor. The water gets cold, but the warmth that envelops me gets even stronger when I cum, screaming his name. I open my eyes, breathing ragged, my heart is ready to burst out of my chest. Fuck.

***

The clock is already 2:00 pm when I finally find time to break and eat. When he/they disappeared, I didn't go to classes and it took me more than six days to catch up with the program. I can finally breathe a sigh of relief, but I can't. I'm still mad at myself for sleeping with Eleanor. It feels like I cheated on Harry. But it's stupid because we're not even together. To be honest, I don't even know who we are to each other. We talk on the internet, we kissed a few times and I saved his life. He slept next to me once, but he left before I woke up. That doesn't make us a couple. That makes us... I don't know! I know nothing! Yes and know it I really, don't want to. We don't have to explain every move we make. It's infuriating. Why do we have to be someone? We're just us. That's enough. I'm attached to him and I don't care what it's called.

No, what worries me most is last night. My desire I have for him. Hell, twice. TWICE. I feel very, very strange. And the worst thing is that I liked it. I liked to imagine him and...

\- Hey, man. – I jumped up on the spot. Liam scared me. I got lost in my thoughts and didn't see him come up. – Whoa, easy, it's just me.

He drops the bag on the floor and sits across from me, biting off an apple I haven't touched. It seems I don't have eaten anything.

\- Don't be shy.

\- I always don't.

He winks at me, smiling slyly. I'm frowning.

\- You seem in a good mood. This is odd.

\- I have a reason. My best friend FINALLY decided to join civilization.

He's right. Between everything that happened, I have absolutely no time for a meeting with Liam. I'm shrugging shoulders. He points at my splint, raising his eyebrows.

\- What is it?

\- A splint.

\- Ah-ah, what, really? What's happened?

\- I dislocated my finger.

\- How?

I shrug again. I don't especially want to tell him that I'm so dumb that I forgot to properly clench my fist before hitting a guy who has concrete tiles under his t-shirt. I've embarrassed myself enough. And if I tell him that, he'll ask me who this guy is. And if I tell him that guy's Harry, he'll ask me why I hit him. And I don't want to tell him that Harry wanted to kill himself.

\- Louis? – it's only when I imagine him on that bridge I feel something break in me. – Hey, can you hear me? – it's too hard, I can't remember this evening without feeling pain. - Hello, Louis? You okay?

Liam's pulling me out of my thoughts again. I look up at him and realize that I don't. Nothing is all right. I can see vaguely because of the rising tears.

\- No.

And without saying anything else, I quickly leave the cafeteria. I'm breathing in the fresh air. I sit on the bench, clutching my head. Liam joins me in a minute, sits next to me.

\- So, what's going on?

I don't answer. Not because I don't want to talk to him. I just don't know what to say. I don't want to talk to him about what happened, even though he's my best friend and I trust him. This applies to Harry's personal life. It's none of his business.

\- Louis, I'm not kidding. Tell me what's going on. You disappear for almost two weeks. You come back with a splint on your finger, you refuse to tell me where it came from and you practically cry. What did the hell happen? I'm warning you, you better start talking, because I'm not gonna leave you alone.

Thank you, I've known him for 22 years, so I know better than anyone that he doesn't gonna leave me alone. And I think deep down I need to talk too. The problem is, I don't know where to start and there're some things I'd like to miss. I lean back, sighing.

\- I don't even know where to start, Liam.

\- From the beginning.

Suddenly I realize I have to talk to him. I kept too much in myself and if I won't tell this to anyone I'll explode. I almost cried in the middle of the cafeteria. Fuck, it's not like me, crying and all, it's not mine, I've never been like that. Liam is my best friend and I trust him. Even without telling him everything, I can at least share something. It'll help me. I hope so. I inhale again, gathering courage.

\- It's Harry.

\- Harry?

\- Styles.

\- I thought so.

\- Why?

\- Because of the last time we talked about the ball. Did he break your finger? No, because if this psycho did it, I'll kill him before he does...

\- Don't call him psycho, and no, it's not he. I mean, not really he.

\- What do you mean, not really?

\- I hit him and I didn't calculate the force.

\- Didn't calculate the forces?

\- Yeah! Okay! I hit him and this guy is harder than concrete! Fuck, Liam, don't laugh like that!

\- Sorry, but... Okay, sorry. Why did you hit him?

\- I can't tell you that.

\- Then the conversation we won't make.

I sigh again. I know he's right, but I can't. I can't tell him, not just because it's Harry's personal life. I'm just not ready yet. I don't want to talk about what happened on the bridge. I don't want to talk about it to anyone, not even Liam, because if I talk about it if I say it out loud – it would make it too real. Too many things will become real and it will only increase my fear. I can't stand fear. I don't want to live with that fear all the time. It's here in my head, but I try to put it in the farthest corner and never remember, so I don't want to talk about it. I'm exhausted.

\- Forget. I don't want to talk anymore.

\- You really care about him, don't you?

\- Yeah.

\- But?

\- But it's too complicated.

\- Because he's a guy?

\- No. I mean, yeah. No.

No. I don't care he's a guy and even if what happened last night still bothers me, it's not the most important thing. The most important thing is I care about him. And now we're back to this fear I'm trying to get rid of. Unsuccessfully. I try not to think about it, but I'm still afraid he'll do something stupid again. But I can't tell Liam because I don't want him to think Harry is... suici... Fuck, I can't even admit it in my head! It's true. No. That word is too hard. It's too personal and I want to keep it a secret. Everyone on campus has the wrong idea about him and I'm the only one, who knows the real him. I don't know why, but it makes me feel special. It's like I'm separated from a bunch of jerks which only see him as a sick psychopath. I also can't tell Liam about Anonym, even though it's no secret, because the professor knows.

We went on talking and thank God I got an understanding best friend, who didn't push me. After all, I didn't tell him much. All he knows is that I care about him and I worry about him. Except I didn't tell him I thought about Harry during sex with Eleanor. I'd rather die. This is too weird. Even though Liam and I always used to talk to each other about our adventures... but now. This is TOO weird. It's different now. I can't.

\- You want to know, what is the weirdest part of your story for me?

\- Since we're already on the subject.

\- For me, it's not even strange that Styles is a guy, it's strange that you're for the first time really got attached to someone.

And after this phrase, after these words, all my questions, all my doubts, and all theories collapsed in the same second. Whether I straight, bisexual, gay. Whether we're a couple or not. It doesn't matter, because I'm only now realizing that I'm just +Harry. And I think I like being just +Harry. I don't want to be one of those guys who pretends to be brutal but hides his real face, not to show that they care about someone. Who says things like "I don't give a fuck about that girl" and spends all night text her. Harry is dear to me and I'm not ashamed of it. For the first time in my life, I'm attached to someone and even though it scares me – I like it. It's nice. It's nice to be just +Harry. And I think I want him to be just +Louis, too.

***

\- I know. I feel sorry. The splint will be off in a few days and I can play again.

\- You feel sorry?! My team captain disappears for two weeks and...

And I'm not listening to him anymore. I foresaw that something like this would happen and I wasn't mistaken. The coach has been yelling at me for twenty minutes, we're standing on the edge of the field while the other guys' practice. I don't mind. I deserved it, even though I have valid reasons (which I'm not going to tell him), I still let the team down. The coach is very cruel to us, doesn't accept any excuses, but it's thanks to him we are all in such good shape, so I accept all claims in silence. He cannot tolerate truancy. Even if you have two legs in a cast – it's still not enough to miss a workout. You have to come, at least just to watch. So when I said that I missed two weeks because of the splint on my finger (which I didn't even have from the beginning), he practically buried me alive. In two weeks I missed 6 training sessions and the match that was this weekend without explaining anything. It is clear, for the captain of the team – this isn't the best behavior. So, yeah, I stand here and give him the opportunity to yell at me because I deserve it. I wonder if he'll ever get tired. Obviously not. For isn't to roll my eyes, I turn my head and my heart skips a beat. He's here. I haven't seen him in seven days and he's here. Sitting in the stands, thirty meters away from us. He looks at me and waves his hand imperceptibly. He came to see me.

\- Hey, Tomlinson, are you listening?

No, not really. The coach's voice wakes me up and I turn to him.

\- Sorry.

\- May I ask why you smile like an idiot?! – am I smiling? It's worse than I thought. I look at him out of the corner of my eye and even from here I see he is smiling too. I bit my lip to keep from breaking into a smile again. – Are you amused by what I'm saying?

I try to pull myself together and listen to him yell over and over again. But I think my thoughts are quite about different. They're about him, about the stands, where he sits. I have to force myself not to look at him every 2 seconds otherwise the coach will throw a tantrum. Though, he already did it. When I decide to look he heads for the exit. He waves his hand again before disappearing. I get yelled at for another 20 minutes until the training FINALLY ends. Since it is Friday, the guys and I decided to go for a drink. It's nice to start talking to them again after two weeks. They didn't ask a lot of questions and even if they did – I wouldn't have answered. They don't need to know. The party was fun. I think I needed this.

***

_"8"_

_"Are you choosing a movie?"_

_"No."_

_"No?"_

_"No."_

_"Then, I choose?"_

_"Nope"_

_"You don't want to watch a movie with me?"_

No, I want to watch a movie with him, but not through the screen. I want to watch the movie with him, but not with the computer. No, actually, I don't care about the movie I just want _to see_ _him._ After I noticed him at practice yesterday, I want even more _to see him._ I thought he was coming to class today, but he wasn't. I want _to see him_. I know, up to this point, we've never mixed out internet conversations with reality I don't even have his phone number. But I really want _to see him_, so I don't have a choice. Because I really want to.

_"I want to, but not through the screen. I want to watch a movie with you."_

_"Okay."_

Okay? That's all? That's simple? Do I just have to say I want _to see him_ so I can actually _see him_? Sometimes I almost have to fight to get two words out of him when he doesn't want to talk. Like yesterday, for example, and 24 hours later, I just need to say I want _to see him_, _to see him_. It's final – I'll never understand him.

I've been waiting in the university parking lot for ten minutes. I offered to watch a movie in my room, but he wanted us to go to his house. And since I still have a splint on my finger – I can't drive, so I'm waiting for him to come to get me. I don't really like the idea. Go to his house I don't want to run into his father or his mother... But it's almost midnight, so I hope they're asleep and we won't cross paths. And it might be stupid, but I want to see his room. The room is personal. And to invite me there it's meant to let me enter his personal life. Into his world. And I want to enter his world. I raise the collar of my coat, exhaling white smoke. It must be -45 degrees in here. I'm freezing. I wish the cold could freeze my brain because I'm so worried. I want to see him so much. What am I an idiot? I feel like a teenage girl going on her first date. It's coming better and better. I'm afraid I won't know what to say. I'm afraid of awkward silence. What was missing was that I started giggling at his jokes and I could safely be given the title of the most girlish idiot on the planet. Thank God, he's not the kind of guy who jokes, because if I start giggling in front of him, I'll probably move to Alaska out of shame. NO, NOT TO ALASKA. There's cold. I'm going to Mexico. Mexico is good. Mexico is warm. Damn, it's freezing! I'm shaking and I'm gonna turn into Snowman if he doesn't come. Really. When his black 4x4 finally pulls up to me, a few minutes later, I'm so cold that I forget all the excitement. I open the door and sit inside without a bit of embarrassment. I'm rubbing my hands or rather, my hand against the splint, blowing on it.

\- Damn, it's freezing.

\- Why didn't you wait for me inside? I would have come for you.

I didn't think about it because I wanted to see you too much, so I stood outside for 20 minutes like it would make you get here faster.

\- I just got out.

He smiles and makes the temperature in the machine warmer.

\- Your nose is red.

And he starts the car. My nose always turns red when I'm cold. It's not funny. He's focused on the road and I'm slowly warming up. I frown at the playing song (Adam Tyler – Turning Tables).

\- Isn't that Adele's song?

\- Yeah, hers.

\- You don't like the original?

He shrugs his shoulders.

\- I prefer that version.

Me neither. And I'm thinking about his song, the one I found on the flash drive. I'd like him to sing it for me. Once.

When we go up the big tree-lined alley that leads to his house, I get nervous. I know it's stupid, but I'm really scared of his father. When we drive up to the house, the automatic light turns on, but instead of going to the main entrance, he drives around and parks in the backyard. Well, I think so, because there're no lights. He pulls out the keys and we go out. The roof of the house covers the moon and I can see almost nothing because I pulled the cloak to the nose. He takes my hand, showing me the way and I follow him in silence. We climb a stone staircase that leads to some balcony. And, of course, an idiot like me can't help tripping over a step. If he hadn't held my hand, I'd have fallen out of there.

\- Carefully. You okay?

\- Yeah, thanks.

He opens the big glass doors, letting me go in first, and then... Shock. He lets go of my hand and I enter the room with my eyes wide in surprise, lowering my collar of my coat. I don't know what I expected, but definitely not this. His room is _huge_. It should be the same size as my parents' living room. The walls are white and the parquet is light beige. The whole wall is filled with shelves rising to the ceiling, on which books and vinyl records are perfectly laid out. It's breathtaking. Three acoustic guitars stand next to each other in the corner of the room. _Huge_ glass table with standing on it iMac latest model. I open my eyes even wider at the sight of his bed. It's _huge_. Really _huge_. It occupies almost the floor of the wall and it could easily fit six people. Also, the floor of the room is a fake fur cream carpet. Am I hallucinating? I feel like I'm on one of the pages of interior design catalogs. He's standing behind me. Silently, gives me look around. There is no wall decoration except for one _huge_ black and white photo of London at night that hangs above his bed. The room is lit by only one _huge_, although everything here is _huge_, a lamp that progressively changes color, giving the room a very calming atmosphere. No mess, nothing lying around. It almost scares me because I'm the sloppiest person in the world. I can get lost in my own mess sometimes, so I.am.just.in.shock. I feel like I'm an unnecessary stain in this beautiful painting.

I was wrong. There is another picture on the opposite wall from me. I walk around the bed to look at it and my heart squeezes. There's a black frame, which should be at least one and a half meters in height and two meters in width. It's a collage of black and white photos of him and Samantha. Or just Samantha's. I recognize some of them because they were on his flash drive and some I see for the first time. Photos are glued to each other in a chaotic manner and there's no free space. Try to consider them all simultaneously. They were so beautiful together and my heart is squeezing again. It's the only really personal thing in his room.

I can feel him moving behind me. And it brings me to my senses. I can finally look away from the photo and turn to him.

\- Your room is just... wow.

I don't really have the words. He just shrugs his shoulders.

\- Take off your coat, you'll be hot.

And without leaving me time to do it myself, he comes up to me and slowly takes it off so as not to touch the splint on my finger.

\- Thank you.

We take off our shoes he takes our things and takes them to another room. I didn't notice that there were three doors besides the glass bay window. The one most likely leads to the rest of the house. I don't know about the other two. Probably to the bathroom and dressing room. I look around again. His room, actually... I don't know. I wasn't lying, I really have no words. Wow. Just wow. And even in spite of such perfect order, I feel comfortable in here. Absorbed in my thoughts, I pay no attention to anything and jump when something rubs against my legs. I lower my head to come across a huge, wolf-like dog.

\- AAA!

I move back sharply. What the fuck is this monster?! I'm gonna get eaten. Or not. He's standing in front of me, watching, and waving his tail. Despite his size, he doesn't look evil, but I still don't dare to move. Well, you never know. I look at him and it takes me more than a minute to realize I know him. My heart skips a beat. Not just a beat, but a thousand beats. My eyes are even wider open than when I walked in here and my jaw dropped somewhere in China, I guess. Hell, that can't be right... Harry's back. He leans against the doorway I have recently entered. I'm so shocked I can barely speak.

\- This...

\- Yeah, This is he.

This... This is the dog I hit a few months ago. And he doesn't look like a mongrel at all. But he was wet that night, so you can understand me. He grew up and became just beautiful. Looks like a husky, although I don't actually understand dog breeds, at all. Can't believe it...

\- It means... It means you're adopted him?

\- Yeah.

He makes a whistle and the dog runs up to him in less than two seconds. Flips over and wags his tail for Harry to scratch his head. They are close and judging by the way he smiles, this dog is very dear to him. I'm just shocked and I have no idea what's going on. Really. I can't believe he adopts him.

\- What's his name?

\- Asshole.

\- Excuse me?

\- His name is Asshole.

I look at him, eyes wide. Okay. In less than half an hour, I broke the all-year shock record.

\- Is this a joke?

\- No, why?

Why? Even don't know. Maybe because you adopted a dog I hit and called him an Asshole? Again, I don't understand anything. This is not the banalest story! Only he doesn't seem to notice my shock. He lies down on the bed, slaps the blanket and the dog immediately joins him. Now I understand better why his bed is huge if such a big dog sleeps with him then need as much space as possible.

\- Come here.

He calls me to come closer with his hand, but I'm not sure... Asshole is huge and even though he's still a puppy he scares me. I don't want to be eaten. Harry is lying on his side, holding his head with the one hand while the other one plays with the dog. He must have noticed my uncertainty.

\- Don't worry, he won't bite you. He's not angry, on the contrary, very cowardly.

\- I can hardly believe it.

\- Clap your hands.

\- What?

\- Clap your hands and you'll see.

I frown, but I do what he told me. I clap my hands and see the dog, pressing his ears, raising his head sharply to me before literally pouncing on Harry, whining softly. Harry falls on his back, laughing.

\- It's okay, Asshole, calm down. – again he's lying on his side, still stroking the dog. – See? He won't do anything to you. This dog is afraid of everything in this world.

\- So you have a dog, look like a monster that's really just a coward?

\- Actually, yeah. Come on, come here. – I walk slowly to the bed. – Louis, nothing will happen to you. – Ahem, ahem, I don't see such huge dogs every day. I'm not used to it. – Trust me.

Well, of course, if he looks at me with those green eyes, I won't last long. Carefully I lay down on the bed, in the same position as he. The dog lies between us, seems to not care for my presence, too busy trying to catch Harry's hand. Thank God he's not ignoring me. On the contrary. He looks me straight in the eyes and I ask myself what he's thinking about.

\- Why did you adopt him?

\- Because you hit him.

I know I should have gotten used to these answers, but they keep throwing me off balance. I also know I should be content with this, but not in this time. Can I at least once in my life understand something? I want to know. I want to know why he adopted him and why he called him that.

\- But why? He's beautiful a lot of people could adopt him.

I think I was too rude because he looks down and doesn't answer. Fuck. I'm silently cursing at myself. He again starts petting a dog and I understand how Anonym he's. I feel like he's closing right in front of me like Anonym always did. I don't want him to close. Not now, not like this.

\- Why did you call him Asshole?

\- Because I thought you were an asshole.

He shrugs, still stroking the dog. I should be offended because "asshole" is an insult, but I don't see the point. Even if I'm still not used to his answers, I'm beginning to understand them. That's the only thing I understand about him, by the way. The way he talks. If another person had said these words, he would have done it to offend. Harry says what he thinks. He's honest. He doesn't build illusions and calls a spade a spade. He thought I was an asshole, so he called a dog that. That's all. There's no subtext. There's no anger in his voice. And the weird thing is I think it's touching. He adopted a dog I hit because the dog reminds him of me. He called him Asshole because he thought I was an asshole. He spoke in the past tense, so now he doesn't think so anymore. I'm touched because no one has ever done anything like this for me before. Nobody ever adopted a dog to think about me before. And now, looking him in the eyes, lying on the bed next to a huge dog, takes up almost all the space I realize how he – Anonym. How much he is the same person. I feel the same way of talking to him. I feel different, special. I feel important to someone.

\- Do you care about him?

\- Very.

He answered after a while and even if he didn't look up at me, we both know his answer wasn't just about the Asshole.

Song: Des'ree – I'm Kissing You.

He raises his head and when our eyes meet – eternity is back again. It envelops us again and I feel like I'm burning inside. His eyes... He reads me like an open book and I don't mind. I want him to know I care about him, too. Don't know if it's because of the lamp, which sanctifying his face or if because the lamp gradually changing color, but his eyes almost gray. Time has stopped and I want this moment to last forever, but it seems Asshole decided otherwise. He suddenly gets up and jumps out of the bed. We're both jump, eye contact breaks, the bubble bursts and we're back in the real world. I'm clearing my throat. We're both a little embarrassed.

\- Do you wanna watch the movie?

He turns to take something from the bedside table. And by the way, yeah, I'm really embarrassed, because we're lying on the bed and we're no longer separated by a huge dog. His bed is too big, I'm too far away, but I don't dare to move closer.

\- Louis? – he's distracting me from my thoughts. – Do you wanna watch the movie?

And he, unlike me, doesn't ask many questions. Deciding that we're too far away from each other, he lies down beside me, puts his hand on my shoulders, pressing me closer to him. I need to think less when I'm around him because I complicate simple things. As it turned out, it was embarrassing only to me. He wanted me in his arms – and he hugs me. He's easy and I like it.

*

\- I'm warning you, if I have mental trauma, I'll blame you for it your whole life.

I don't know how, but he convinced me to watch "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre". I don't like this idea at all. Absolutely don't like. Ab-so-lu-te-ly.

\- I'm here to protect you.

Well... He, of course, a strong, but against chainsaw, he has no chance. He'll be cut into little pieces. He sits with his back against the bed and his arm around my waist. I put my head on his shoulder. He holds the remote and when he presses the button, a huge screen appears on the opposite wall from us. I open my eyes wide again.

\- Do you have a retro-projector in your room?!

\- Yeah.

He shrugs while the list of movies defiles on the screen. Apparently, this thing is connected to a computer. Finding the right film, he turns off the light with the remote.

\- No, no, no and again no.

To watch a horror movie – well, I can try. But to watch a horror movie in the dark – never. I'm not that masochistic. I try to get up, but he holds me tighter.

\- Wait, you'll see.

He presses another button and a few seconds later thousands of small stars begin to shine on the ceiling. Wow... I'm literally out of breath. I've never seen anything like it.

\- That's beautiful.

\- Thus, I never sit in the dark.

And I remember an Anonym saying to me: _"I'm afraid of the dark". _He presses another button (okay, this remote controls his entire room) and the lights around the picture of London begin to glow behind us. I'm really mesmerized.

\- Your room is just...

I don't have the words again.

\- I feel good in my room.

I understand him, because, in less than an hour, I feel good here, too. Despite the fact, I hate going to people's house. But I'm really cozy here. Maybe because I'm with him. Most likely, yeah. But I really feel very good. I look from the garlands to him.

\- I feel good in your room too.

And in your arms.

*

\- Fuck!

I jump up and buried my head into his neck. Let's forget about pride. I look like a cowardly wet chicken, but I don't give a shit. The movie starred twenty minutes ago and I can't watch it anymore. When a girl has been starting to cut the brain – I feel bad. And Asshole lies at our feet and I flinch every time he moves. Conclusion: I hate horror movies. Harry tightens his arms around me and presses pause.

\- If you want we can stop.

\- No.

Only not that's. I'd already dishonored. If I agreed to watch it (which was the biggest mistake of my life) – I have to watch it to the end.

\- You're sure?

\- Yeah.

\- Okay then come here.

He gets up a little and covers me with a blanket. I lie between his legs, pressing my back to his torso and he wraps his arms around me. We both press our legs together, he wraps his arms around mine and I feel safe. Now, nothing can happen to me. He turns the movie back on, hugging me tighter every time I flinch. Because I have a splint on my arm, I can't close my eyes, so he does it for me. He knows this movie and in front of every scare scene, he covers my eyes with his hands, whispering in my ear what's going on, on the screen. And I don't have to watch moments that scare me. And when his hands aren't on my eyes, he interlaces our fingers under the blanket and strokes my palm. Correction: I adore horror movies. I want to watch them with him every day. And I really appreciate he doesn't laugh at me. Asshole lies on out feet and looks at me, tilting his head. What? I'm a coward like you and I need his hugs, too. Lend him to me. I love being in his hands, too.

*

When the movie is FINALLY over, I sigh with relief. Not because of the end, but because he won't let me go. Well, also to the fact I survived. We straightened our legs and after Asshole's lying on them of an hour, he decided to move to our knees. He's not shy at all. He sleeps. Harry's fingers are playing with mine.

\- Sorry, he takes up a lot of space.

I lean my head back, placing it on his shoulder. I look at him.

\- I like him.

\- You're not afraid of him anymore?

\- No, but he's gonna crush me.

He smiles and nudges the dog with his foot to make him move, but... Instead of waking up and leaving, Asshole decided to roll into a ball and crush us even more. I can't help laughing.

\- Leave him alone or he'll really crush us.

\- Doesn't he disturb you?

\- No.

Okay, he's very heavy and I can barely feel my legs, but I don't think he's disturbing me. He doesn't disturb me because I realize Harry values this dog and if he's important to him – he's important to me. He turns to me and I'm lost in his green eyes again. The garlands light up his face and I realize how beautiful he is.

\- I think I should go home.

\- Do you want to go home?

\- No, I want to kiss you.

\- Then do it.

\- I'm afraid you'll push me away.

\- Why should I push you away?

\- I don't know.

\- Kiss me.

And when he says those two words, my heart stops beating. I think I'm trembling, but I'm not sure. I don't know. I'm too hypnotized by his lips, which are slowly approaching mine. And when they touch, a current runs through the body. When our tongues meet I can taste the mint again and I feel like I'm coming back to life. His arms are still hugging me tightly and he puts his hand on my cheek. I'm literally melting into his hands. This is our third kiss and I won't spoil it. Asshole just woke up and he's probably jealous because he's starting to come up to us. Feel Harry smiling through the kiss and pushes him with his free hand.

\- Asshole, get out.

And he kicks him to the edge of the bed. I smile too. We lie down slowly, without breaking the kiss. I don't know how we did it, because our bodies were intertwined. We're lying next to each other, but I don't like it. So I'm bounding our legs together again and snuggle closer to him. My hands-on his torso and his arms are around my face. I don't have enough oxygen, but I don't want to break this kiss because it's perfect. When it ends, we don't move away from each other. He puts his arms around my waist and gently strokes my back. I feel so good in his arms I could fall asleep.

\- I feel weird to see you in my bed.

\- Why?

\- Because it's rare to see anyone here.

\- You want me to leave?

\- No.

\- That's good because I don't want to leave.

I feel so good. We're here, lying in each other's arms. He draws invisible circles under my t-shirt. I'm drawing the shape of his collarbone. Asshole is back on our feet. Harry turned off the lights and only the star ceiling remained. I've never felt so calm and peaceful in my entire life. He's the first person I've ever done this kind of thing with. We talk or rather we whisper as if we don't want anyone to hear us... Our lips are close that sometimes they touch. We don't go any further, we don't need it. I like his voice. He's telling me all the stupid things Asshole did. And there are a lot of them. He dug up all the roses in the garden, ate a few pairs of shoes. Harry even had to change the seat of his 4x4 because he tore the leather out of the backseat. He told me this dog never stops, but he can't yell at him because Asshole looks at him with such pitiful eyes that he gives up. That's why he's sleeping with him, Harry can't say no. He bought him a huge basket, but the dog didn't like it. He even tried to close him in the dressing room, but couldn't stand the crying coming from there. So every time he opened the door, he said it was the last time. Until he finally gave up and bought a bigger bed. To be honest, he executes all his whims, because he hates when he's sad. If I was afraid the dog I hit was sheltered by bad people, now I'm completely calm. He has the best owner in the world. He treats him not as a dog, but as a child. I understand him because, after all these stories, Asshole is actually a child. Harry told me during a thunderstorm, he had to lie down with him under the blanket and soothe. They're very close and from the way he talks about him, I realize Asshole needs Harry as much as Harry needs Asshole. Then we talked about the veterinary clinic. He explained to me this isn't a veterinary clinic. Well, not really. It's more like an animal shelter. They treat them for free if the owners don't have enough money for a real vet. There're 5 people working there and all volunteers. When I asked him who was financing them, he shrugged and pointed to himself. More precisely, on his father's money. He writes him a check every month and Harry puts almost everything into it. He learned a lot of things there.

\- You really like doing that.

\- Yeah.

\- Why?

\- Because I love animals.

\- Why do you love them so much?

\- Because they expect nothing from us except love. And we just need to give it to them so they'll reciprocate.

We keep talking. And he says he would like to open a real shelter for abandoned animals. But not an ordinary shelter, no. The shelter where the animals would be so happy that they wouldn't need owners. And I love to hear him talk about it. Because the more he talks about it, the faster I start to forget the moment on the bridge. After all, this shelter is the future. And if he thinks about the future, then he wants to live.

Dawn begins and I slowly fall asleep. We talked all night and I didn't notice how time passed. While I struggle with sleep, he gets up and checks if all the doors in the room are closed. Again. And again. He pulls the handle three times to see if they're locked. I'm almost asleep, but I still frown.

\- What are you doing?

\- Nothing.

And his voice is a little tense. And... He checks again to see if the doors and bay window are closed. I don't understand why he does it, but I don't dare ask again. He looks worried, so I just pretend not to notice. He comes back to me without saying anything and wraps his arms around me again. I'm too tired to try to understand anything. I don't want to understand. Not now. I just want to sleep in his arms.

\- Sweet dreams.

\- Sweet dreams, Louis.

***

Song: James Morrison – I Won't Let You Go

***

Four days. He hasn't answered in four days. Four days ago, I woke up alone in his bed with a note next to me.

_"I couldn't stay. I'm very sorry. PS: I left you money for a taxi. I'm really sorry about that. – H"_

I've been going crazy for 4 days. The only thing that keeps me from panicking is he comes to the forum every day. Without it, I would have just died, because he didn't come to class either. What the fuck did I do? Why is he ignoring me? Did I do something wrong? Where did I fuck up? I must have screwed up... He can't just run away from me after a perfect night we spent together. I drop the laptop on the floor. I can't see this _"12"_ anymore, which remains unanswered even though he's online.

*

I hear someone knocking on the door of my room. I can hardly open my eyes. I blink a few times before I look at my watch. 4:03 am. Is this a joke? Trying to get back to sleep, I have no desire to open at this time, but the person behind the door seems to have decided otherwise, because knocking start even harder. I swear under my breath, getting out of bed.

\- I'm coming, coming. – I quickly put on sweatpants with a t-shirt and head to the door. – Who's that?

\- Harry.

And if a second ago, I was sleepy, now I'm the most vigorous person in the world. I can tell by the tone of his voice something's wrong. I literally throw myself on the handle to open it. I was right. He's got tears in his eyes and he's shaking.

\- I...I am... I'm sorry I'm so late... I'm...

\- No, no, don't apologize. Come in. – I let him pass, closing the door behind him. If anxiety could be measured, I would reach the maximum level. – Is everything all right?

He turns to me, shaking his head.

\- No.

I think he's going to cry.

\- Do you want to talk about it? – he shakes his head again. If he doesn't want to talk, I won't force him. And if he came here, it's because he needs me. – Come here...

I take his hand and lead him to the bed. We both lie down. I put my hand on his waist and he buries in my neck. Our legs are intertwined and I don't care if he didn't take his shoes off. I cover us with a blanket and play with his hair. He snuggles up against me and at the sight of his circles under his eyes, I ask myself how long he hasn't slept. He looks exhausted and his body is a little shaky.

\- Shhh... That's okay.

I gently rock him, holding him close. I don't know what the hell is wrong with him, but right now, the important thing is to make him feel better. I can't see him like this. I feel a tear running down my neck. His crying breaks my heart and it hurts so much I hug him even more, showing I'm here. I keep stroking his hair and I can feel him calm, his breathing getting calmer. He fell asleep and considering how little time it took him, he must have been really tired. I hold him, refusing to let go or distance myself. I'm watching him sleep. He had never looked as vulnerable as he did now. He seems so strong all the time I forget Harry is only 19 years old and the youngest here is him. Seeing him like this, sleeping on my shoulder, with tears on his face, I realize despite all his fortitude, he is fragile. Really fragile. I also know I want to be there to protect this fragility because I don't just care about him... I'm falling in love.

**"I'm sorry" - Harry**


	24. What do 100 days mean?

Song: Every Avenue – I can't not love you

***

_97 days earlier._

\- I did what you said.

Friday night, 10:45 pm, his voice pierces the silence of the audience. The professor raises his head, frowning.

\- Really?

\- Yes. About Louis Tomlinson. I talked to him.

\- How did it go?

\- He doesn't know it's me.

\- What?

\- I wrote him on the campus chat forum without telling him who I was.

\- Why?

\- I didn't want him to start judging me based on rumors and stereotypes.

\- I think that's a good idea.

\- I asked him what he would do if he had only 100 days to live.

\- Harry...

\- I know.

\- Are you still planning on to do it?

\- Yeah.

\- You know it's not a solution...

\- For me it is.

\- Harry... Death doesn't solve anything. You're young, you have so much to live for.

\- I don't want to talk about it.

\- Perfect. Did he reply?

\- Yeah.

\- What did he say?

\- That he would try to live.

\- I like his answer.

\- Me too.

\- What did you tell him?

\- I didn't answer.

\- Will you try?

\- Try what?

\- To live.

\- 97 days, yeah.

***

_110 days earlier._

Because there're fears that can touch the soul, words that obsessively ring in your ears and situations that leave you no choice. Which you have no way of reacting to. You can't find a way out. What could a professor of philosophy do after his 19 years old student told him that he didn't want to live anymore?

\- A year, Harry. Give yourself another year.

\- 100.

\- 100?

\- 100 days.

\- Why 100?

\- Because it's a round number.

\- You know I don't agree with you, right?

\- I know.

\- And when will these "100 days" begin?

\- When I'll be sure I want to die.

***

_8_ _days_ _before_ _the_ _first_ _email_

_ _

Song: Alison Krauss – Is doesn't matter

Alone in his room. The blade cuts through his skin again. His wrist is practically torn. All are across horizontal. He doesn't want to die tonight. Just feel the pain. Without _her _is so hard and cocaine helps to forget, at least for a moment. It penetrates in every cell of his body. In the blood that drops to the floor. He sees _her _face, _her _blonde hair, _her _eyes, _her _smile...

\- Sam...

A few more cuts, he doesn't want to lose her. Doesn't want to see her disappear again. He is lying on the floor, in the middle of packets of white powder, bottles of vodka and razor blades.

_\- Come with me, Harry._

She's dancing in the middle of the room. He smiles because she looks so much like an angel. He stands up. He wants to go with her. Everything is spinning. He vaguely sees and feels the cold engulfing his body. Leaning against the dresser to keep himself on his shaking legs. Trying to make a step, but immediately falls to the floor, dragging all standing on the furniture items with him. The door is abruptly open.

\- Harold! – he feels his father's presence. Feels like he's pressing on his wrist to stop the blood. But he can't react. - Harold, do you hear me? – he hears a worried but distant voice. – Stay with me. – he doesn't see him. Through closed eyelids, he could see only her face. She's always smiling at him. She's beautiful. – Get an ambulance now.

A huge black hallway and she's dancing in the middle. She's wearing a white dress. The unpleasant sound of sirens sounds in his head, along with her ringing laughter. She revolves around herself. Several people enter the room, he hears their footsteps, he hears their voices. All thoughts are mixed.

\- Pulse is weak.

He feels that an oxygen mask is put on his face to help him breathe. She holds out her hand to him.

\- Stretcher! Careful, on the count of three, we're raising him. One, two, three, come on! – he holds out his own to touch her. – Call the hospital, tell them we're bringing them an overdose.

He feels his body being moved, he feels fresh air on his face. Understanding nothing.

\- Close the doors. Start the car!

Needles are sticking into his arm. Coursing through his veins something cold and he can hear a regular "beep" of the electrocardiogram. She's still looking at him. Never takes her eyes off him.

\- Fuck! – a sharp, unpleasant sound. – We're losing him.

His shirt is torn, he's cold. He wants to stroke her face, but she pulls away. He panics.

\- Charge to 100!

Electric current passes through the body.

\- Charge to 200, come on, guy, stay with us. Charge!

He wants to catch up with her, but she moves away faster. Screams her name.

\- Charge to 300! Come on, back here. You're too young to die from this shit.

He runs after her. It was very cold. He feels the cold spreading everywhere it can.

\- Charge again! Come on, don't leave us now. Come back.

She stands right under the bright light and slips away from him. She turns to him. _"Not now, Harry."_ She smiles at him one last time before disappearing. He hears the unpleasant sound give way to the regular beating of his heart before plunging into complete darkness.

\- Pulse has recovered. We made it.

***

Because that night Harry almost lost his life in the ambulance. His heart stopped, and they managed to resuscitate him at the last moment. Because he was suffering, and he went too far without wanting to. Gastric lavage to remove all cocaine residue from his blood, sutures that will permanently leave scars on his wrists forever. He spent 8 days in the hospital. 8 days, he thought. 8 days, he sought. For 8 days, he wondered if he should thank or hate the doctors who saved him. 8 days, he decided whether he wanted to live or die.

After all, he didn't want to die of an overdose, alone in his room. He didn't want to leave without trying. Without fight. After leaving the hospital, he sent the first email to Louis.

***

If the professor had asked Harry what he expected of Louis that day, he would have answered.

_«Smile»_

And without even knowing it, Louis smiled at him, running through every email.

Because in the whole story, you were trying to figure out, 

_"Why 100 days?"._

There is no explanation, no date, no important moment.

It's just a round number.

You wanted to know, 

_"_ _Why Louis?»_

Because Louis radiates happiness and joy of life.

And Harry lost both.

Why Louis?

Because he has a red car, and one day, he took a can of Diet Coke in the cafeteria.

Because he managed, quite by accident, to get Harry's attention.

Why Louis?

It could have been anyone, but it was him.

Because Louis represents life and Harry represents death.

Because he needed life to escape death.

Because some questions don't have answers.

Because feelings can't be controlled.

They cannot be selected.

Why Louis?

Because, one day, walking down the hallway, Harry's eyes stopped on it.

Because he liked his smile.

Because there are things that can't be explained.

***

_But what do 100 days mean?_

_ 100 days is the time it took Harry to re-believe in life._

_100 days and one smile._

***

**Because Harry almost lost his life that day, because he wanted to see Louis and his smile, too again.**


	25. Chapter 12

**"Jacques Godbout said: "Memory is what remains after the action." I'm afraid to do the same things with him and forget everything about her." - Harry **

***

Song: Ronan Keating – When you say nothing at all

***

\- Did you see the yesterday game?

\- Yeah! Manchester was great.

\- Exactly.

\- Okay, you guys ready for the game this weekend?

We're walking through the cafeteria and I don't listen to them anymore. I don't listen because he's here at the end of the room, sitting at the table reading. He did it again. Three days ago, he came to me in tears, in the middle of the night and he did it again. He's gone. The next morning, I woke up alone again. He was gone as usual and left only silence. I didn't see him, he didn't come to class and he didn't answer my emails. I hate when he does it. When he just leaves and ignores me for a few days. I worry about him and every time I try to figure out what I did wrong. I mean, I had to screw up somewhere. He couldn't just walk away, could he? Especially, in the last time, he was really bad.

\- Hello, Louis? Are you going?

Jake interrupts my thoughts. Guys go to the table. I didn't even notice I stopped.

\- Uh, yeah. I'll be right there.

I sigh, gather courage and approach him. No, I'm not afraid to talk to him, but sometimes he gets so closed in himself I don't know how to talk to him without being afraid he shut down even more. I put the bag on the floor and fall into the chair opposite him. No reaction. He doesn't move or raise his head. Okay... Things aren't going well. He doesn't want to talk only this time, I want to talk to him. I feel anger going up and it scares me. Every time we sleep together, he leaves without explaining. I need to know. I need to understand.

\- Will you explain to me?

My voice was drier than I would have liked. He doesn't look up anyway.

\- No.

\- No?

I see his eyes moving.

\- Did they take off your splint?

Yeah, changing the subject it's his favorite thing. But I'm not going to fall for his tricks. I can be stubborn when I want to, too.

\- Why do you dump every time we sleep together?

I can feel him tensing and clenching his teeth.

\- I don't want to talk about it.

And without giving me time to answer he abruptly closes his book and leaves. Just like that. Without words, without a single glance and I feel like the last Harry was sitting in front of me. The one who used to leave in the middle of a conversation. I watch him leave the cafeteria in surprise. He can't just walk away, it's impossible. Looks like it's possible because he just walked out the door. It takes me a few seconds to react. Nerves are already on edge. I know I act too harshly and if I continue – I risk even more to piss him off, but... This time, he can't just leave me. I'm going to go crazy if I don't get an explanation right now. I ignore the looks of the guys on the team. I grab my bag and run after him.

He's walking so fast, I'm catching up with him in the middle of the corridor. I turn him, grabbing his elbow.

\- Fuck, when are you gonna stop leaving like that?!

I didn't even know I was angry. I'm really angry. I'm mad at him for leaving in the middle of the night, and now... I don't know. It's infuriating. I don't seem to fully understand how much I care about him. I'm always afraid he'll do something stupid. I know I should trust him, but... No, I don't know anything at all. I don't know if I can trust him, because we've never spoken about that. I have no idea what's going on in his head. I have no guarantee he won't want to do it again and when he disappears – it seems to me he's again standing on the bridge. I can't get over the fear, much less when he comes to bursting into my room in tears. Without telling me anything. He never explains anything. And I have the worst-case scenarios running through my head. I don't want him to do that. I feel like I'm gonna go crazy if he doesn't stop to do that.

\- Let go of me. – he pulls his arm out of my grip. – I told you I don't want to talk.

\- I need to know.

\- That's your problem.

Wow...His voice was cold. I feel like I'm getting a hard punch to the chest. He never talked to me like that. Well, from the moment we got close. I remember his cruelty, the one in the parking lot with that guy Zayn and the one he threw me out of his car. I think I see the same anger again. His head is turned to the side and muscles of his jaw are tense. He clenches his teeth and almost pulls the book out of his hand. His leg is shaking and he nervously bites his lower lip. I don't need to touch him to feel his body is tense and trembling. After everything that's happened, after we got close, I forgot he was a cruel and dangerous man. Even if half the rumors about him are bullshit, the rest is true. If he was good and innocent – people wouldn't afraid of him. And then I got the most powerful proof of it with my own eyes... It feels like he's about to explode. He's like a time bomb that can explode at any moment but tries not to do it. He avoids my gaze. He looks at everything except me. Even if I'm angry, I don't want him to explode. Not here. Not now. I'm not afraid of him, I'm not afraid for myself. Deep down, I'm sure he's incapable of raising a hand to me. Probably... And if you count all the times I beat him, even if he did hit me one day, it wouldn't be the end of the world. No, I don't want him to explode because there're a lot of people around us. Now is lunchtime, so in the corridors full of the people and rumors and so enough. I don't want to create new ones, so I speak softly.

\- It's my fault?

\- What?

His voice is still cold, he's still tense and he refuses to look at me.

\- If you leave like that every time... Is it my fault?

He was silent, look at everything except me, still biting his lip. Sighs. Truly sighs. A long, heavy sigh. He runs his hand through his hair and I see his shoulders drop abruptly as if he had just released all the tension.

\- No, not yours. – he finally turns toward me and looks at me for a few seconds before he lowers his eyes. – It's my fault.

And when his voice breaks on the last word, all my anger goes away. He looks very tired. Even more than 3 days ago. He's pale and he's got huge circles under his eyes. His cheeks are hollow and it seems to me he lost weight in 3 days. Not much, but before, his cheeks weren't so hollow. I feel my heart gripping painfully.

\- Harry...

He raises his head and must be finding the excitement in my eyes.

\- I'm fine.

And I don't know what hurts me more. That he's lying to me or that it hurts him to lie to me too.

\- I'm worried about you.

He sings again. He covers my cheek with his hand. We touch our foreheads.

\- I know.

He's so sad, I don't even think about the fact we're in the middle of a crowded hallway. Honestly, I don't care. I put my hands on his waist and pull him closer. His eyes are closed, so I close mine. I can feel his breath on my lips. His body's shaking slightly. I just want to hug him and tell him everything is fine, knowing everything is really bad. I don't care. I just want him to feel better and I want him to open up to me.

\- Talk to me.

\- I can't.

\- Why?

\- Come to my place for the night, tomorrow.

\- You're not leaving in the middle of the night like you always do, are you?

I only whispered those words, without any hint... But it's too late. He tensed again. He pushes me away and opens his eyes. I think I hurt him. And he's avoiding my gaze again.

\- I...That... That's not what I wanted to say...

\- I... I should go.

Before I can say anything else, he starts to come away. I watch as he, holding the book in his hands, disappears into the crowd of students. That's not what I meant. The words came out... I didn't think... I'm so mad at myself. I feel so pathetic I can't take a step and when he completely disappears whether from resentment whether from the anger I violently hit the locker behind me.

\- Shit! – fuck, I'm such an idiot. I run my hand through my hair, trying to calm down. I notice all looks are directed at me. – What? Do you want to take a picture?

They all quickly turn away. Not that they fear me, but I'm still Louis Tomlinson, captain of the football team and no one wants to have such a popular enemy. I'm not stupid and understand rumors couldn't be avoided. But right now I don't give a fuck. The only thing I care about is Harry. I hate when he's feeling bad, especially when I'm not knowing why.

Another 10 minutes I'm standing in the hallway, trying to calm down before returning to the guys. I fall into a chair without saying anything.

\- Won't you invite your girlfriend to join us? – I look up at George, burning him with my eyes. I seem to be very angry, as he involuntarily moves back, raising his hands. – Whoa, I'm just kidding, dude.

Except I'm not having fun.

\- Shut the fuck up.

I said it so harshly that no one else dared to say a word. There's dead silence and I'm not taking my eyes off him. If he says anything else, I'll strangle him. Liam seems to feel my tension, because he, as usual, saves the day by starting talking about football and the upcoming match. The guys are continuing the conversation like nothing happened. They know it's for their good.

***

The news of what happened between me and Harry quickly spread across the campus. And despite the fact it hasn't yet reached my ears personally, I have been catching strange glances all day. When the day FINALLY ends and I hope to breathe easy, the name that appears on my phone for the eighth time breaks all my hopes. I knew this would happen. It's inevitable. My absences in class and training, when Anonym disappeared, couldn't go unnoticed. Even in dreams. And that's assuming I've already ignored 50 of his calls. I'm surprised he didn't personally break into my room, by the way. The phone rings again. He won't back down and I can't postpone this conversation any longer. I take a deep breath and pick up the phone.

\- Dad.

\- I give you one hour to come, William, or I'll pick you up myself.

He didn't even let me answer and I know there's going to be a big quarrel. Because it's Thursday, which means he's so angry he couldn't wait until Sunday lunch and mostly because he called me by my middle name. And that's a very bad sign. The last time he called me William was when I was 17 and I with Liam secretly threw a party on a yacht our parents rented. And of course, we were caught. More precisely, we were caught by the NCIS and, damn it, it was the most unpleasant moment in my life. I sigh and turn around to go back to the parking lot. It's no use looking for an excuse for not to go, I'm already dead. Note: if I'm a little lucky – I can get into an accident on the road and die instantly. This will save me from a long and painful death, from the blaming and the smell of cigars. By the way, I still don't understand why my father lights a cigar during every serious conversation. Looks like it gives him feel more composure.

In less than 35 minutes, I'm parking at my parents' house, completely unwilling to get out of the car. Come on, the faster you go in, the faster you go out. I barely have time to open the door when my mother appears from nowhere, hugging me tightly.

\- My God, darling, I was so worried!

Only tears are missing – and we will reach the maximum level of tragedy. Quickly I press her to myself, patting on a back.

\- It's okay, mom, I'm not missing after all.

\- But you didn't answer your phone! I was really scared.

She pulls out her silk handkerchief and I make a great effort not to roll my eyes.

\- Well, now you know I'm fine. Where's a dad?

\- In his office. He's waiting for you.

Thank you, I'm kind of aware of that. And I can tell by the glance in her eyes that she won't come with me as moral support. Anyway, it was always like that. My mother is the most passive woman in the world who always gives in to the pressure of my father. I sigh, heading for his office. That's just great, I feel he's gonna make a scene for me a-la Al Pacino. I knock and when he tells me to come in, the tone of his voice, give me realize I wasn't wrong. He sits at his large oak table, holding a thick cigar in his hand. I sit in one of the leather chairs. The conversation will be long. Very long. I listen to all possible and impossible claims about my inappropriate, as for Tomlinson, behavior. I'm not even trying to defend myself, because then I have to talk about Harry and I don't want to. I'm making excuses. Influenza. I tell him I was sick. And he certainly doesn't believe me and since I refuse to explain anything, he warns me not to do it again. He got the papers from the hospital that says about my splint. I'm not going to explain that either. And instead of worrying about me, he's making claims again. He reminds me of my responsibilities. He says that the university is the most important thing and he expects better behavior from me. Best results, more winning football matches, and diploma, which is necessary for the heir of the famous law firm of "Tomlinson & Payne". He never once asked me how I was doing. I'm not even surprised. It's just my father. I didn't expect anything from him. When I leave his office an hour and a half later, I'm sick of the smell of cigars. I guess I did pretty well since the number of zeros on my check hasn't changed. I about to open the front door, but...

\- Louis? Louis, dear, wait! – and it was too good to be true. I close my eyes for a few seconds and put on a fake smile, turning to my mother. – You're not staying for dinner?

\- No, mom, I'm tired and I still have a lot of homework to do.

\- Oh... - I can see how upset she is, but I really don't want to stay. – What about this girl, Eleanor? How is she?

Yeah, correction: she's not too upset and much less she doesn't lose her grip.

\- Probably, she's fine. We're not together anymore.

Better to break all her hopes now than to beat around the bush. And as far as I remember, I never told her we were together.

\- But why? She looked so cute and perfect for you!

Oh, no, I have just endured nearly two hours of lecturing from my father and if my mother arranges hysteric, I'll definitely not survive.

\- I'm really tired, mom, I have to go. I don't want to drive in the middle of the night.

Leaving her no time to answer, I kiss her on the cheek and walk away. Quickly. Quickly as possible. I'm just running. Of course, I love my parents, but all should be in moderation.

***

It's almost 11 pm when I FINALLY let myself fall on the bed. I take my computer to write to him. I'm still mad at myself. I shouldn't have said that. If he leaves every time we sleep together – he must have some reason. He told me it wasn't my fault. I believe him, but it hurts me more because it means the problem is in him. He feels bad and I want to know why. I don't like when he feels bad.

_"15. I'm sorry about today, I shouldn't have said that."_

_"Forget."_

And he's going offline. I turn off my Mac, knowing full well that he won't come back and I won't be able to get a word out of him. That's worst than usual. The worst than when he just doesn't want to talk. After all, when he doesn't want to talk it's because he's like that. But now this is because of me. I mustn't ask about these things when he invites me over for the night. I behaved like the last an idiot. I mentally scold myself, because I'm really worried about him. Very much.

***

Song: Ben Rector – Need You Tonight

The day passed quickly and if don't take into account all glances directed at me and whispering – it wasn't terrible and however no, it was because Harry didn't come. I expected that. I was sure he wouldn't come to classes. I wrote him 3 emails and he didn't reply to any of them. It's 5 pm and I'm going to his house. Even if I'm not sure he wants to see me. But I want. I refuse to spend another minute without knowing for sure he's okay. I hate worrying about him. I need to talk to him or at least see him and I don't care if he sends me to hell. I'll try. I drive up to his house and for a few seconds, I doubt whether I should park at the main entrance and knock on the door or go up to his room from the backyard. The image of his father appears in my mind. I park in the backyard. His SUV's in place, so he is here, too. That's reassuring. I quickly climb the stone stairs leading to the balcony of his room. Heavy cream curtains hang on the windows. I knock on the glass door, but nobody opens it for me. He must be really doesn't want to see me... But I didn't come here for a non-reason. I'm not leaving until I see him. So I push the door and walk-in. The room is quiet. He's sleeping on his bed, wrapped in blankets. Asshole's lying at his feet. When he notices me, he raises his head sharply, making a strange sound.

\- Shh, quiet.

He looks at me for a few seconds before lowering his head again. Yeah, he's the worst guard dog in the world. I'm taking off my coat and boots. I try not to make too much noise because I don't want to wake Harry up. He looked tired yesterday I'm glad he's asleep. He needs it. I put my things on the floor and gently lift the blanket to lie beside him. Noticing that, Asshole doesn't move, but watches me closely. Okay, this is pretty creepy. And I realize if this is about Harry, he's not such a bad guard. I lie down without making any sudden movements. Anything can happen, and I don't want to be eaten by a dog. His glance is worried me so much that I'm in position half-sitting, half- lying and it's very uncomfortable. I'm afraid to wake Harry, so I start to stare at him. But he doesn't care. He keeps looking at me and after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity to me, he decides that I'm not the enemy and returns to his business. I sigh relieved, fully lie down and adjust the blanket. Harry's lying on his stomach, his back to me. And I probably wasn't too delicate, as he turns his sleepy face to me. He hard opens eyes. I crawl closer to see his face.

\- Hey...

\- Hi...

We're whispering. He holds out his hand and I interlace out fingers.

\- I'm tired.

I see him struggling to keep his eyes open. How long had he been awake to be so exhausted? Has he even slept since the night we spent in my room?

\- Sleep.

He covers his eyes, but instead of staying in the same position, he pulls me closer to him, putting his hand on my waist and buries his nose in my neck. I feel his breath on my skin and I hug him tighter, stroking his back. If I was afraid he would reject me or blame me, I was wrong. Holding him in my hands, I forget all the anger and all the fear that I felt in the last days. I just feel good. If don't count Asshole that is going to crush our legs and I'm really good.

\- Iwon'tsleep...

He mumbled that in such a sleepy voice so I couldn't help but smile. I feel his weightless kiss on my neck. My body is shivering. A really nice thrill and when I look down at him, my stupid smile gets even bigger. He sleeps. His breathing is calm and I can feel his chest rising and falling. I gently remove the lock of curly of hair that has fallen on his forehead and I look at each of his face's features. Yeah, it's too snotty, but I don't care, because it's nice to see him like this, so calm and peaceful. He is really beautiful. I don't know why, but I can't stop comparing him to Eleanor. His skin is soft and Eleanor's is smeared with makeup. His long eyelashes lie beautifully on his cheeks and Eleanor they fall under a ton of mascara. His nose is straight and Eleanor's is crooked. His lips are perfectly shaped and colored and Eleanor's lips are too thin and even with lipstick, they will never reach such a pleasant pink hue. His beauty is pleasant and Eleanor's is vulgar. I don't know why I do that, why I compare them. But it's stronger than me. I ask myself, how I could have even considered Eleanor is beautiful and even more as she could to attract me. I don't know how long I've been watching him sleep and stroking his back, but probably for a long time. Despite the fact, it's still day and I'm not tired, I feel so good and calm that I also fall asleep.

***

I'm pleased I still feel his body next to mine. The weight of his body presses a little on me. His breath is on my face. I burrow into the pillow, muttering something. I don't want to get up. I feel too good. Something hot and wet leaves a mark on my face. I open my eyes sharply.

\- AAAAAAA!

Asshole is a few inches from me, I'm trying to move away from him and suddenly I'm falling on the floor. Right on an ass. The dog stands on the edge of the bed, waving his tail and sticking out his tongue, looking at me with interest. Is this a dream? I hear Harry laughing behind me.

\- Asshole, leave him alone.

I'm wiping slobber cheek with sleeve.

\- Eww.

Harry reached out the hand to help me up.

\- Are you okay? You didn't hurt?

I grab his hand and stand up.

\- No, I'm fine, but it's not the most pleasant awakening of my life.

\- He likes you.

\- You're kidding? He pushed me off the bed, just now.

And I keep wiping my cheek as there might still be drool on it. Harry smiles again.

\- That's what I'm saying, he likes you. When I had a small bed, he would throw me off from it every time.

Yeah, except I absolutely don't like to wake up like that and to show my discontent, I turn to Asshole and mutter something to him. But he doesn't care. He keeps looking at me with his tongue out and his tail up and down. Harry laughs again and tells me to go to the bathroom the wash my face. I love it when he laughs. That's why I love Asshole because he makes Harry smile. But pride has not been canceled, so when I walk towards the door, I show him my teeth and growl jokingly. Only now, he raises his ears so sharply that I give a squeaky scream and quickly run into the bathroom, slamming the door. OKAY. Pride: 0. Asshole: 1. And I would have done without Harry laughing behind the door. Ha-ha-ha. But I still smile because he's fucking laughing.

And... Wow again. His bathroom is beautiful and _huge_. That's to be expected, given the size of his bedroom. _A huge_ marble bathtub stands in the middle of the room. _A huge_ glass shower takes up the whole wall and there're so many different nozzles in it that I feel dizzy. Also, half of the wall is taken up _a huge_ mirror and two sinks. Even a toilet bowl made of marble. There are many shelves on the sides and even here, everything is in perfect order. Toothbrush stands in a special cup, all sorts of care products exhibited in a perfectly flat line. Towels are folded on the warming surface. There're no drops of water anywhere as if this bathroom had never been used. Either he's got an army of cleaners or he's a maniac. I wash my face and try – to no avail – to put my hair back before I go back to the room. He sits at the table looking at the computer monitor and I only now realize that on the street the night. He turned on the star ceiling, the garlands, and the changing color lamp. I look at the electronic clock. 12:30 am. We slept all evening. Hearing my footsteps, he closes his Mac and turns to me.

\- Are you hungry?

\- A little.

Actually, yes, a very much. I never miss a meal. As a football player, I have to eat healthy and proper so I'm not used to starving. He stands up and takes my hand.

\- Come on.

And when he opens the door that leads to the house, I cringe involuntarily.

\- Your parents aren't at home?

\- No, dad's on night duty.

I frowned.

\- And your mom?

It's his turn to cringe.

\- She's not here too.

I can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn't want to bring it up, so I don't insist and follow him in silence. We left his room and went down the stairs. He turns on the light and... OKAY. His bathroom is nothing compared to the house itself.

We are standing in a huge circular corridor with a large white staircase in the middle. Everything is done in light colors. He's still holding my hand, Asshole's trudging near us and I cannot stop fascinated to consider everything around. Stairs lead to _a huge_ hallway. I already hate the word _"huge"_, but it's the only one with _"Wow" _that comes to mind when I see his house. I ask myself what his mother does because his father is a surgeon. Yes, they're paid a lot, but not to the same extent! This can easily be the mansion of some Minister or a famous actor. We pass a large living room decorated with burgundy curtains and pine furniture. Everywhere is reflected by luxury. I even noticed a pool table and a plasma screen, even bigger than the retro spotlight in his room. I don't know what to look at. I'm probably looking at everything with my mouth wide open because he squeezes his hand harder to get my attention. He stopped walking and looks at me.

\- Your house is just...

I hate never finding the right words. He just shrugs his shoulders. He's probably used to it. But I'm not. Because looking at him, no one would have ever thought that he had so much money. I mean, you can see he's not poor because he's wearing brand-name clothes and driving a huge Range Rover, but he's not arrogant at all. Even I, with my Lamborghini, show off more than he does.

\- I think there's something you might like.

He interrupts my thoughts and I raise an eyebrow.

\- What?

\- Follow me.

He holds my hand, I follow him and... Asshole's following us. He's just Harry's shadow. He does not one step away from him. We pass the whole house and go into _a huge_ game room. Everywhere there're statues of superheroes, another pool table, pinball, the latest models of game consoles, wide armchairs and even a basket for basketball. I open my eyes wider.

\- Okay, now, I'm really jealous.

If I was younger, I'd throw a tantrum at my parents to make me a room like this. Worst of all, it's not even what he wants to show me. We go deep into the room he pushes the door and opens the view of the indoor pool. This.Is.Too.Much. As a child, I always dreamed of a pool, but my parents were against it. We had a small pool in the garden. But not covered! Not one you can swim in even in winter.

Song: David Grey – This Year's Love

No need to turn on the light. Underwater lights illuminate the room in light blue. I spin around, looking at the room.

\- When do I move?

He's smiling.

\- You can come whenever you want. My parents are never home. Father's in the hospital all the time. And my mother... - he pauses and I stop spinning to look at him. – She's never home either.

Even though he's trying to hide it, I notice how uncomfortable it's for him to talk about his mother. I want to support him, but I can't find the words. I look at him as he slowly approaches me.

\- I'm serious, come whenever you want.

He's only a few inches away from me and I can smell his perfume. This atmosphere puts pressure on me. And, as always, because of him and his damn green eyes, I'm doing the reckless thing again. It's like being around with him makes me even more of an idiot than usual. Instead of kissing him (because I think that's what he wanted me to do), I push him. I put my hands on his torso and push him, without any warning. I don't have time to start mentally berating myself again because he grabs my sleeve in an attempt to stay on my feet. But I don't have anything to hold on to, so... we both fall into the water.

At the same time, we rise to the surface, being about two meters from each other and I want to drown myself from my stupidity. I don't even dare to look at him. I feel him stands behind me and I pretend to cough. If I could choke right now, that would be awesome, because I just want to disappear. How the fuck I can be so stupid?

\- Three.

I need time to get away from my stupidity and react. I turn to face Harry. His white t-shirt sticks to his body, he shakes his wet hair and I stare blankly at him.

\- W-what?

\- Three. – he swims around me, getting closer and closer each time. I'm not taking my eyes off him. – This is the third time. – but I still don't get it. – The punch in the hallway. – he coming closer. – Slap in the cemetery. – we draw circles with our hands to stay on the surface. – and now this. This is the third time you've done something really stupid.

Harry is standing right next to me. He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me close. I'm not resisting. I can't take my eyes off him.

\- I'm getting stupid because of you.

I put my arms around his neck and put my legs on his hips. Just because I want to. I want to feel him.

\- Because of me?

\- I'm losing my sanity around you.

I feel like we're moving slowly, but I can't stop looking at him. At him and his face, that's so close to mine, at him, at his green eyes, his pinkish lips, which I so want.

\- I'm worried about you. – the words came out. I did it involuntarily, but this time, I'm not backing down. He needs to understand how I feel. – I'm scared.

\- What are you afraid of?

\- I'm afraid of every time you disappear without explaining anything. I'm afraid because you feel bad, but you're not telling me anything. I'm afraid you'll do it again. – and I'm afraid you'll push me away, but I won't say that. – I'm afraid for you.

I fear your silence. Calm me. I'm really afraid of his silence, because he doesn't take his eyes off me, but he doesn't answer. I can see the pain in his eyes and I know in advance that his next words will be a lie.

\- I'm fine.

\- You're lying.

He closes his eyes, probably to avoid my gaze, because I know how much pain lies cause him. But I don't want him to shut me out, so I do what I do in the hallway. I whisper the same words to him.

\- Talk to me.

\- I can't.

\- Why?

\- It hurts too much.

My heart aches. Instead of answering, I touch his lips weightlessly.

\- I'll always be here for you. I'm not leaving.

I can feel him holding me to him as hard as he can. He needs it. I hug him tighter, too, because it's too late to back out. Because I can't leave him anymore.

_\- Don't jump._

He barely whispered those words, but my heart still skips a few beats. These words. This is my words. The ones I wrote on the bridge. And if he read them, then he's back there. He wanted to jump again? As if reading my thoughts, he whispers to my lips again.

\- I can't do this anymore.

That whisper means I can't jump because you're here. And at that moment, I'm overwhelmed with such a strong and deep feeling that I'm doing the only thing I'm capable of. I kiss him. I'm really kissing him. I'm weaving our tongues I can taste mint and feel all his pain. It's not a gentle and affectionate kiss. It's a heartbreaking kiss. He quietly shares his pain with me and I give him all of myself. And even more. There're tears in my closed eyes, but I have no right to cry. I have no right because he needs me. Even though he never told me that, he tries to show it in a kiss. If he feels bad, I have to be strong. After all, he is not as strong as he seems. He's suffering. And if he suffers – I suffer too. If I suffer – I will fall. And when I fall, he'll be strong for me. It's an endless cycle. I created it. And though that kiss, I realized that if one of us falls the other falls either.

There are moments in life that change everything and are remembered forever. Those are that will forever be engraved in our memory, which is we will never forget. Our kiss in the middle of the pool is one of those moments. I know that even after many years, no matter what happens, I will never forget it. Because now, for the first time, I feel like my heart is beating for someone other than me.

And there are other moments. The ones I'd love to do without, with great joy. For example, when my stomach starts to growl and spoil everything. I want to hit myself. He smiles at me on the lips.

\- You're hungry.

\- No.

No, because I don't want to stop. Another thing I could do without my stomach rumbles a second time, even more. My own body betrays me. He smiles again.

\- Liar.

Eventually, at the sight of his smile, I realize that no matter how long it takes and what happens in my life, I will remember every second. Because that kiss bound us together and the rumbling of my stomach made him smile. I want every smile turned into a memory. Also, I want to create as many memories as possible with his smiles. So, no, even though rumbling is not the most pleasant thing in the world, I would never wipe it from my memory. Because every instant of this moments is perfect.

***

But coming out of the pool in jeans is absolutely not cool. Just like walking through a huge house soaked to the skin and trying not to slip at every step. Yeah, and that's not to mention a huge ball of fur, which only complicates the task, messing with our feet. No correction: with MY feet. Thank God Harry (to whom the dog doesn't cause any problems at all) is holding my hand otherwise I would have fallen ten times already. This dog is S.A.D.I.S.T. We're back to his room and wrapped ourselves in big warm towels over our wet clothes. And I finally see what's hidden behind the third door. This is a huge dressing room, which he, of course, contains in perfect order. He gives me a t-shirt and sweatpants. Good, because I was afraid my butt wouldn't fit in his super tight jeans. I frown when he tells me I can change in the bedroom while he'll change in the bathroom. I thought we were going to change our clothes together. I'm actually a little disappointed because I wanted to see him in his underwear, but he's probably shy. I don't know. All I know is that when I change, I can't stop burying my nose in my shirt collar to smell him. He's turning me into a girl. When the door opens, I straighten my shoulders and turn back into a guy, in the real. I even cough, for general effect. He also wore a t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair is still wet and I still want to kiss him.

***

Song: Sixpence None The Richer – Kiss Me

\- What do you want to eat?

I'm sitting on one of the bar stools in his huge kitchen. It's supposed to be 2:00 am and he's digging in the fridge for food.

\- There's nothing.

It's hard to believe. It can't be there's no food in such a huge house. I stand beside him.

\- Kidding? Your fridge is full of groceries.

\- Yeah, but they need to be cooked.

\- And?

\- And I can't cook.

Me either.

\- But I can.

We wanted to make an omelet. Or, to be more precise, we decided that he would pull out all the necessary ingredients and I would make an omelet. It's not complicated. It seems that it is complicated. I'm so terrible at this case that he's starting to help me. And... And we both become terrible. We threw out, it seems, a dozen eggs before we could normally break a couple, without leaving any shell fragments. We gave more than half of the meat to Asshole because he didn't stop looking at us with unhappy eyes. In the end, we added everything we could found and it's doesn't seem too bad.

\- Do you think it's cooked enough?

\- I don't know.

And we decided the smell of burning, which was carried throughout the kitchen, means yes, the omelet is cooked.

\- Well?

Now we sit across from each other. He chews slowly, very slowly, without any emotion on his face. Harry found the courage to be the first to try what is on our plates and courage was REALLY needed. He finally swallowed a carefully chewed piece.

\- It's just... disgusting.

\- Stop it, you're exaggerating.

I take the fork out of his hand to try it myself.

\- Okay, you're right, it's awful.

Even Asshole doesn't want to eat it. We have completely failed. I think now we can make an official statement: cooking isn't for us. But, thank God, there're round-the-clock pizzerias that are delivered to your home, even at night.

***

Empty pizza boxes are on the floor and we're lying on the bed with Asshole at our feet. It's almost 5:00 am and we're watching "Garfield". I said I was afraid of cats to sit in the same position as last time. What? Can't I? And I don't care, because I feel really good in his arms. We're wrapped in a blanket. I lean back against his chest as he holds me close. I guess from now I'll always be afraid of any movies, just to lie like that. I like his starry ceiling and the garlands behind us. It's comforting. I think I feel so good because his head is on my shoulder and he kisses my neck. His fingers are playing with mine. I've never done this to anyone before. Usually, if I'm lying in bed with someone, it's not to watch a movie. We sleep together we have sex, that's all. But not with him. We don't even think about it. I think he, like me, isn't ready for this yet. We don't need that either. We're just good together. I enjoyed the evening. I liked kissing him in the pool because despite the pain we were very close. I liked to cook with him this disgusting substance that we couldn't eat. I like eating half of his pizza because mine had too many olives. And I love to be in his hands at that moment. I'm not able to tell what just happened in the movie because I'm focused on his kisses. I loved every little thing. Really. We didn't do anything supernatural, but it was nice. I thought he opened up to me and I want him to do it more often. And even if I still don't know why he feels bad, I let him know that I'd be here for him and I wouldn't leave him.

Before going to sleep, he, as last time, gets up to check whether all the doors are locked. I'm silently watching him. He checks three times, in the same order, the door leading to the bathroom, dressing room, hallway, and balcony. And every time, he does the same thing. He pulls the handle. The dressing room door opened, so he starts over. Again, closes, jerks several times to make sure. He checks the balcony one last time and comes back to me before turning off the lights, leaving only the star ceiling. Our heads are on the same pillow and we look into each other's eyes.

\- Why are you doing this?

I speak very quietly, simply because I can't keep all the questions to myself.

\- Because I need it.

He, too, whispered these words and lowered the glance. I hold him close.

\- I understand.

These are the last words I said before I fell asleep, feeling him hugging me more tightly.

***

I slowly open my eyes. The sun breaks through the heavy curtains and his place is empty. He's gone. I'm alone. He left again.

***

**"I can't do that. This is too hard." Harry**


	26. Samantha & Harry #1

Song: Adele – One and Only

_Aug 19, 2012_

_3 days before Samantha's death._

\- Harry...

No answer. The first rays of the sun barely penetrate the room and the star-spangled ceiling still shines. He lies on his stomach with his hand under the pillow and his head buried in it. He's sleeping. She sits astride his back and leans down to kiss his neck.

\- Haz... - she whispers in his ear, gently biting the lobe. – Wake up... - he grumbles and she smiles, stroking his hips. – Baby... - he grumbles again, pushing his head even deeper into his pillow. – Come on.

Her hands slide down his back. He's shivering. And she knows she won. She's again stroking his hips and he whispers, turning.

\- Letmesleep.

She can't help laughing she likes it when he grumbles in the morning. He has a lovely sleepy and husky voice. She kisses his shoulder.

\- Don't make me tickle you. – grumbling again. He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to wake up. He wants to sleep about... 300 hours. – I'm actually gonna do it.

She starts ticking him.

\- Grrrmph, Sam.

When he hears her laugh he can't hold back a smile. He gives up. He knows that everything was lost from the beginning. He always loses when it comes to her. He opens his eyes and with a skillful movement changes positions, finding himself on top. He gently squeezes her to the mattress, sitting between her legs. He strokes her face with his hands and leans on his elbows so as not to crush her.

\- One day, I'll kick you out.

She smiles looking at his sleepy eyes and strokes the pillow mark on his cheek.

\- You'll never do that.

\- I'll do.

\- No.

\- I hate you.

\- Me too.

Now he smiles, a gently kind smile before kissing her.

***

_He liked to sleep. She always woke at first light. He was lucky that morning. Usually, she puts on a vinyl record, starts singing and dancing, jumping on the bed until he finally opens his eyes. He grumbled and the more he grumbled, the more she like it. The more she liked it, the more she smiled. And the more she smiled, the more he loved her._

_They had their own habits and even if he hated waking up so early, he loved every one of them._

_"I want you, Harry."_

_That morning, they made love. Their bodies intertwined amid white sheets. They were as gentle as ever. Their caresses, their breaths, their groaning are mingling. They knew each other by heart. She was thinking of his pleasure. He thought of her. He loved every breath she took. She loved to feel him inside of her as if he was giving her a piece of him. They loved being one. She felt safe in his arms and he liked her safe. The bond between them was strong and powerful. Indestructible._

_They didn't like words. All that "I love you" stuff wasn't for them. They didn't need it._

_If he'd known that was the last time they'd made love, the words would have come out of his mouth:_

_"I love you, Sam."_

_If she only knew that this was the last time she could give herself to him, she would answer:_

_"I love you too, Harry."_

_If they only knew that this was the last time they could love each other that way._

_If only they knew this was their last chance._

_Last chance to be happy together._

***

_22 August 2012_

_The day Samantha died._

It was 4:00 a.m. when the glass door of his room opened. 4:03 a.m., to be precise. He opened his eyes with difficulty.

\- Sam?

He is still half asleep when she lies down beside him. She turns her back on him, and when he hears a suppressed sob, his heart skips a beat. He puts his hand on her shoulder.

\- Sam?

She doesn't answer him and begins to tremble. He leans down, and when he sees the tears on her face, he feels something inside him snap. And when he sees the purple hematoma on her cheek, when he sees the marks from the blows, his anger boils. It appeared so abruptly that he had to make a great effort to control it. To not get up and beat this freak right now. He can't. Not now. She needed him.

\- Come here... - she jerks as he puts his arm around her waist. – It's okay, Sam. – he lies down again, holding her to him. – It's all right... It's over. – she shivers, he only tightens his arms around her, stroking her hair. – Shhh... Calm down, nothing else will happen to you. You're safe now... I'm here.

He kisses her temple, not letting go. He whispers soothing words, and wipes away her tears, as he did every time. He shakes her, calms her. She doesn't say anything. He's just holding on to him for all he's worth. 5:17 a.m., and she, finally, falls asleep. He watches her sleep. He can't take his eyes off her for a second. He needed to know she was here with him, in his hands, not in the hands of this freak. He's mad at himself. He couldn't protect her again. And the more he looks at her battered face, the more he hates everything around him. Silently promises himself to take revenge. Again. But this time, he would kill her ex-boyfriend with his own hands.

***

_And he did, later. He had avenged Samantha, and if the police hadn't arrived in time, Zayn Malik would have been dead._

_At 6:33 a.m., he too fell asleep, hugging Samantha tightly._

_Not knowing that this is the last time he sees the girl he loves._

_The next morning he woke up alone in his bed._

_A few hours later, Samantha killed herself by jumping off a bridge._

***

**Harry's Diary**

Song: Switchfoot – You

_17 days after the end of the 100 days count._

I just can't do it. Yesterday, I left him alone again. I can't do it. I tried. Really, I did try. I can't, it's too hard. I'm afraid to fall asleep around him. I'm afraid he'll be gone when I wake up. I'm afraid to open my eyes and see the empty space on the bed. I can't. I can't stand it. I can't to, I don't want to. It's stronger than me. I don't want to open my eyes and see him disappear as she did. I don't sleep anymore. I can't do it. There're too many thoughts in my head, and I can't sleep because of them. Or, I have nightmares. Horrible nightmares. Last week I had a dream about a bridge. I dreamed he was standing on the bridge. I shouted at him not to jump, to stay with me, but he wouldn't listen. He jumped and I didn't catch him, it was too late. Then I saw the body. On the highway. But it wasn't his, it was Sam's. I don't want to sleep anymore. I don't want to have dreams like that. They bring too much pain. I... I stopped taking my meds. I know I shouldn't, but the antidepressants make me sleepy and I don't want to sleep. Even though, I took the pills yesterday. Because I needed them, I was too angry. I don't know why. Just angry. I hate being angry. I didn't want to be angry. I wanted to sleep. I didn't want the drugs to keep me awake anymore. I just wanted to rest. To be an ordinary person for once. That's why I took them. 3 pills, I think. It's doesn't matter. I slept all night, and when I woke up, he was there. Actually, there. Not just in my mind. He was lying beside me, and I was so afraid he would disappear that I had to cling to him with all my strength. The drugs were very strong I tried not to fall asleep. I was too afraid to go to sleep and not see him when I woke up. But it didn't work and I fell asleep. He was here. When I opened my eyes, he was still here. In fact, he was lying on me, as if he was afraid that I would disappear. Our legs were intertwined and he was lying on my torso. It was strange. I suddenly felt good. I watched him sleep for a long time and then I felt guilty for feeling so good in his arms. The last time I felt this way was before Sam died. I blamed myself and I still blame myself. It's stupid, but when I'm with him, I feel like I'm erasing all the memories with her. Before, I feel good because of her, but now... Since yesterday, I feel good around him. I think I'm mad at him. I know it's not his fault, but... I'm also mad at myself because I love waking up in his arms. I liked not to feel that pain in my stomach when I woke up alone.

I'm sorry my hand is shaking and the handwriting is completely incomprehensible. I think I took too much cocaine. I did it again. Last night, I couldn't help myself. I watched him sleep again. He moves a lot in his sleep. I had to cover for him 10 times. And also, he spoke. I didn't get it what it was, because it sounded more like a noise than words. All I know is that he said my name and snuggled closer to me. I think he saw me in a dream. I shouldn't do that to him. I don't have to leave him every time, but it's stronger than me. I'm too scared to wake up in the morning and realize he's gone.

I didn't even notice that I wrote so much. Maybe we should stop. My hand is shaking too much and my head is still spinning. I need to quit drugs, but I can't. Later. Not right now. Not now, because I can't sleep.

***

_If Harry leaves Louis every time, it's because he's scared._

_He's afraid to forget or replace his memories of Samantha._

He's afraid to open his eyes and not see Louis around.

_When he woke up alone, the day Samantha died_

_He remembered the loneliness for a lifetime._

_It's like a moral trauma._

_Deep down, he thinks that if he hadn't fallen asleep that night_

_When Samantha woke up and wanted to leave_

_He would have stopped her._

_After what she'd been through that night, he shouldn't have left her alone._

_If she hadn't been alone, she would never have been able to reach the bridge._

_And if she couldn't get to the bridge, she wouldn't jump._

_If Harry hadn't fallen asleep, he could have saved her._

_He blames himself. He's consumed with conscience and guilt._

_And all this guilt turned into an incurable moral trauma._

_The trauma that keeps him from waking up next to Louis._

_A trauma that destroys him from the inside._

_If he was afraid to fall asleep next to Louis, it was because he was afraid to wake up alone._

_He was afraid to open his eyes and see empty space next to him._

_One more time._

_***_

_Because some fears are very difficult to overcome._

_Harry needs time._


	27. Chapter 13 - part one

**Ivan Bakunin wrote: “The need to destroy is the desire to create.” I think I need to destroy myself to recreate myself. Touch the bottom to rise to the surface. I feel like I’m falling, but not even crashing. It’s like an endless fall. I don’t want to fall anymore. I want to rise to this surface. – Harry. **

Song: Red Hot Chili Peppers – Californication.

***

The clock is 11:00 pm. I can’t sleep tonight either. Like last night and the night before. I’m sitting at my desk in front of a computer monitor. I look at the e-mail I just sent.

_“22”_

I know he won’t answer. I haven’t seen him in two days. Two days since he left me without news again. Like all the other times we slept together and he took off. Only at that time, I didn’t go right after I woke up. Although I should have… That would be better because that’s why I can’t sleep. When I woke up I needed to go to the bathroom… And I rummaged in his bathroom. I don’t know why it’s not like me at all. To intrude on someone else’s private life like that, but it was stronger than me. I had no bad intentions. Just wanted to look in the drawers, see what care products he uses. Something like that. Nothing wrong with that. I was just curious. But I shouldn’t have. And I never thought I’d find that I found. _That._ In the closets were towels, gloves, and various hair care products, in a word, everything that should be in a normal bathroom. But there was another closet. _That closet._ The one I shouldn’t have opened. On the first shelf were women’s clothes: hairbrush, makeup brush, cosmetics, and various creams for the skin. I think it all belonged to Samantha, and that he didn’t dare to get rid of it, or maybe he just wants to keep her things. I understand him, and it doesn’t matter. No. What matters is what I found after… I… Fuck, there were medicines on the shelf and more... I feel like I’m going to throw up because of this uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. Blades, damn it. There were razor blades and a dozen medical scalpels in sterile packaging. And blood… Drops of dried blood are on the shiny metal. Fuck. Is he…? Yes. I’ve been trying to fool myself for two days now, but I can’t do it anymore. You don’t have to be a genius to understand. I… I can’t accept that. How could I not notice? Where? Arms? Wrists? I have no idea, and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve been thinking about his arms for two days, looking for marks in my mind. It’s there on the wrists, isn’t it? It’s it that, where the people who do it usually get scars, right? I know he has bracelets and tattoos, but I do not…. I didn’t see any cuts or anything… I mean, I didn’t see anything. On his body? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to change in front of me. I don’t fucking want to think about it anymore. It’s too much…. I don’t know. It’s just _too much_. I can’t imagine him doing it anymore. I cannot. I hurt for him. STOP, damn, I’m going crazy. I’m really gonna throw up. I still keep my eyes on the monitor, as if the answer might come at any moment. Yes, hope is my best friend. I think I’m mad at him. Not because he left again, no. I realized he wasn’t doing it on purpose, and that it hurt him even more than it hurt me. No, I’m mad at him because… Blades, I… Why? He destroys his body. Why is he doing this? He has no right to do this to me. Is he feels so bad? No. He can’t do that.

I’m too wrapped up in my own thoughts. I’m too desperate for possible and impossible explanations to prove to me that I’m wrong. That he’s not doing this. That he needed scalpels for something else…

The phone rings, making me jump. Finally, I take my eyes off the monitor. It’s Liam. I sigh to calm myself before picking up the phone.

\- Hello?

\- Where are you?

\- Hello Liam, I’m glad to hear you too…

\- Not now, please.

\- Whoa, what’s wrong?

\- Something’s wrong. Are you in your room?

\- Yeah, come I’m waiting for you.

\- I’ll be right there.

I barely have time to add anything when he hangs up. I’m frowning, there’s definitely something wrong with him. I’m shrugging he’ll be here anyway.

I turn my attention to the piece of paper in my hand I’ve been holding from the beginning. I turn it over and over. I run my eyes from it to the computer. I don’t know what to do. I think I’m just scared. I’m afraid to find out something terrible. I run a hand through my hair. Damn… But I can’t just sit there knowing nothing. I stare at it for a long, long time, and finally unfold it, staring at the three words I wrote quickly before I left his house.

_“Risperidonum – Solian – Paroxetinum”_

There were a lot of meds on the shelf, but it was these three that caught my eye. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter. I sigh again. It feels like I’m betraying him by doing this. I mean, I always knew Harry is different. The idea that he might be ill has crossed my mind several times, quite often, to be honest. But… Maybe he’s just not ready to talk about it? But I need to know. I need to understand why he closes up and behaves so strangely. I close the campus conversation forum and open a new web page. My fingers hang motionless over the keyboard. I have no right to do that, but on the other hand, how can I know the truth if he refuses to talk to me? I don’t know what to do, and it’s maddening. I begin to type, biting my lip, “Risperi…”, then I delete and re-enter. Delete again and enter again. Delete, enter. Delete. I can’t.

Eventually, I’m distracted by the sound of the door opening. I abruptly close my Mac and hide the note in the first drawer of my desk, as if I’ve just been caught in a deadly crime. I sigh. Okay, I really need to relax. I turn to my best friend, who still hasn’t learned how to knock on the door. He sprawls on my bed, burying his head into the pillow.

\- Life sucks.

Good start.

\- Is it that bad?

\- I caught Danielle with another guy.

Oh, it’s worse than I thought. They’ve been dating for a long time, and even if Liam refuses to say it, I’m sure he’s in love with her.

\- Okay, move over.

And without giving him time to do so I lie down next to him, shoving him in the shoulder. He grunts finally pulls his head out from the pillow and rolls onto his back. We’re cramped. The main drawback of a dorm room is a single bed. But we don’t care we’re both staring at the ceiling.

\- Speak.

I hear him sigh irritably beside me.

\- I was supposed to spend the evening with her. We agreed to go to the movies, but since she was very late, I decided to go to her room and…

And he stops.

\- And you caught them.

\- Yeah.

\- Fuck.

I don’t even know what to say. I’m trying to put myself in his place and involuntarily imagine Harry with someone else. I imagine I find him in bed with another man, too, and just thinking about it hurts. I feel my stomach tighten, and I quickly banish the images from my mind. I still don’t know what to say to Liam. We’ve known each other since we were kids, but we’ve never been fallen in love before. Talking about sex is something we can do, but talking about feelings is something else.

\- What did you do?

He laughs ironically.

\- What do you think I did? I got out. I wasn’t gonna stand there and watch how them…

\- But they saw you?

\- Yeah.

\- And?

\- And Danielle followed me out into the hall, crying.

\- Ouch. What did you tell her?

\- Go get dressed. She was naked.

And even if it’s not funny I can’t help but laugh.

\- Damn, you’re such an idiot, but you did the right thing.

\- Yeah, I know.

Well, at least he relaxed a little.

\- Who was that guy?

\- Josh. – he clenches his teeth. – Son of a bitch. – yeah, I knew Josh was an asshole, but I never thought he’s able to sleep with the girlfriend of one of the team members. So, the next training sessions promise to be stressful. – I’ll kill him.

Correction: the next training session promise to be VERY stressful. We keep talking, insulting Josh with every word we know. He says that when he caught them, Josh didn’t know what to do with himself, and Danielle immediately began to cry. Even though he manages to sound casual, I know he’s in pain. He takes a deep breath.

\- I give up. Now I’ll be like you, specializing in guys.

\- Ha, ha, ha. That’s very funny. That’s very funny, really.

\- What? With them, everything is easier.

\- Yeah, but not when the guy’s name is Harry Styles.

It’s my turn to sigh.

\- Wow, okay, come on, tell me.

I sigh again. I don’t know what to say. I want to say so much and so little at the same time. I bite my lip. Liam decides to get it out of me.

\- Are you and he at least together?

I’m sighing for the third time.

\- I have no idea.

\- What do you mean, you have no idea?

\- I don’t know! We never talked about it.

\- So you don’t even know if you’re in an exclusive relationship?

\- No, I mean, yes.

He’s right. I really don’t even know that. Maybe Harry hangs out and sleeps with other people. No. You don’t have to think about it.

\- I don’t think he has anyone else.

\- And you? Eleanor?

\- I haven’t seen her since last time. And that’s not the problem.

\- What then?

I see the medicine on the shelf again, the blades, scalpels, and blood. I close my eyes and run my hand through my hair.

\- I think Harry is ill.

\- That’s not news.

\- Shut up, Liam, I’m not kidding. I think he’s really ill.

I understand his remark. At first, I also called Harry ill, but there is a difference between ill and _ill_. And Liam knows from my tone that I’m serious.

\- Wait, you mean sick, really _ill_?

\- Yes, really ill.

\- But how do you know? He told you?

\- Not exactly.

\- Not exactly?

He turns his head to me and looks at me with a look that says _“what have you done again?” _I’m ashamed and cover my face with my hand.

\- I rummaged in his bathroom.

\- You did WHAT?!

\- Not start. I feel bad enough.

\- Why on earth would you do that?

I don’t need to look at him to know how displeased he is with me. His voice is clear enough. So I sigh. For a long time.

\- I don’t know. I just wanted to see.

I hope he understood that I was already blaming myself.

\- And what did you find?

Images of blades and scalpels appear again, but I don’t let myself said about them out loud. I can’t talk about it, it’s too personal.

\- Meds. Many medications.

\- Damn… What kind?

\- I don’t know. Antidepressants, I think. I wrote down the names and just wanted to look them up on the internet before you came in.

\- Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t do this!

He said it so emphatically that I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

\- Why not?

\- If my relationship with Danielle has taught me anything. It’s that you can’t do anything behind each other’s backs.

\- But if he doesn’t tell me, how can I know?

\- If he doesn’t tell you, it’s just because he’s not ready. You haven’t even decided if you’re together or not. If he’s really ill, it must be hard for him. Give him time.

Okay, I just got a hard slap in the face that put me back in my shoes. Liam’s right. I’ve already gone too far, rummaging in his stuff, and I don’t have a right to do this to him. If he didn’t tell me anything, it’s because he’s not ready. Or doesn’t want to. But I can’t pry into his life like this. I must give him time. “Behind each other’s backs”, these words ring in my ears, and I remember the flash drive, the song, and Samantha. All the things I know without him knowing and I feel bad. I’m betraying him. Harry never lied to me and I’m…. And I’m hiding it from him. I don’t just feel bad. I want to literally bury myself alive somewhere and disappear.

We talk for a long time. He tells me about Danielle and their relationship. He finally admits that he values her, that he is in a lot of pain, but he won’t forgive her. I tell him about Harry, about Asshole. The nickname made him laugh.

\- And he’s right. You were actually an asshole.

\- Why am I not now?

\- He changed you.

And these words remain in the memory. “He changed you”. Before Harry, I never cared about anyone. Now, I care about him. I also tell Liam that he leaves every time we sleep together, but he always blames himself for it. We’re talking about our parents. About his mom, who was already practically planning a wedding with Danielle, and who would definitely get pseudo-depressed while she will cry to my mother. I can’t help but smile when I think what a shining example of stereotypes our mothers are.

\- Come on, laugh. She spent hours hammering my brain to make up with Danielle. You know what? Make your coming-out, so they will be depressed at the same time.

\- HAHA, let me remind you that I’m not gay.

\- Yes, yes. It’s just him. I know, you already told me.

\- Exactly. I’m just +Harry.

\- Just +Harry? That’s ridiculous.

\- Oh, shut up.

I throw a pillow at him. I like talking to Liam. Between classes, his ex-girlfriend and Harry, we have absolutely no time to see each other. And lying on my bed, looking at the ceiling with my best friend, like we did when we were kids, I realize that no, we haven’t changed. Neither he nor I will ever change. We grew up. He lived through his first love story, and I’m living through mine. Because yes, what is happening now can be called that. Love story.

\- You know what? You’re right, I’ll settle only for girls. Guys look too complicated, especially yours.

That’s the last thing he says before he falls asleep. It’s almost 4 a.m. and we both have to get up in 3 hours, but I’m unable to sleep or stop smiling. “Especially yours”. Your boyfriend. Harry. Mine.

***

Song: Nickelback – How You Remind Me

\- Come on! Come on! Come on! Faster, guys! Go ahead!

9 p.m. Training ended about an hour ago, but there are still eleven people on the field. We have a very important match next week, and we must be ready. We’ve been practicing for three hours now. I’m literally dripping and I can’t take it anymore, but football helps me take my mind off. We train kicks, passes, and review techniques. We do our best despite our fatigue. But suddenly, I notice him. He is standing at the edge of the field, a few meters away from me. I notice the cigarette in his hand. I’d forgotten he smoked. I mean, I only saw him smoke once, on the bridge. I don’t like it, but I don’t really care right now. I’m so happy to see him. He’s here. I haven’t seen him since I woke up alone five days ago. And I promised myself that I will not put any pressure on him and just continued to send emails. I promised I wouldn’t take the first step. And even though it was very difficult, because I was worried about him, I kept my promise. He came by himself and this time we exchanged roles. And he’s standing here, not far from me. I can’t hold on any longer.

\- Continue without me, I’ll be right back.

I throw the ball to one of the guys and run up to him. I should stink, I’m exhausted and there’s probably a lot of grass on my clothes, but I don’t care. I want to talk to him now. He watches me approach and throws his cigarette stub somewhere on the ground.

\- Hey…

\- Hi.

And there’s dead silence. I look at him and he avoids my gaze. It’s like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. He’s sighing, looking at the grass.

\- I’m sorry I left again.

And I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s really mad at himself. I understand that this is difficult for him. He doesn’t do it on purpose, and it means a lot to me that he’s apologizing.

\- I know.

There’s not a note of reproach in my voice. He looks up at me and I see all this guilt in his eyes.

\- You’re not mad at me?

\- No.

And I mean it, I’m not mad at him.

\- I just want to understand why you’re doing this.

He looks down again and I know he’s not ready to talk about it yet. But the efforts he makes and the fact he returns to me erases his silence. I want to hug him and tell him it doesn’t matter. That he doesn’t need to say anything that I’ll wait. The most important thing is that he’s here right now. But since I’m sweaty and dirty, I don’t think this is the best idea. Not very romantic. But it doesn’t seem to bother him, because he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me close. I can’t help but smile when his lips tickle mine.

\- I missed you...

And when he whispers these simple words, I feel my heart racing like that of some stupid teenager and the worst thing is that I like it. This feeling.

\- Me too.

Again I forget where we are, now only he exists. He and his arms on my waist. He and his eyes looking at me. He and his lips. He and I. We are only a few centimeters apart. We are about to kiss publicly for the first time, when suddenly…

\- You are the son of a bitch!

Reality is sharply reminded of itself.

We turn at the same time to see Liam grabbing Josh by the collar, pinning him against the wall at the entrance to the locker room.

\- This must be a joke… - we’re running to stop them. – Liam, stop it! – he literally suffocates him, I pull him back with all my strength. – Calm the fuck down!

Harry grabs Josh by the neck and presses him against the wall, holding him by the throat so that he can’t escape. And even if Josh kicks, Harry easily holds him back, telling him to calm down. It’s harder for me with Liam. He’s mad and no matter how much I yell at him, nothing helps. He’s angry and tries to push me away so he can hit him again.

\- Damn it, Liam, calm down! He’s not worth it!

I wonder how long I can hold him. I’ve seen him hold himself back since the start of training. I can hear Josh insulting Harry behind my back. And he says an extra phrase. The one that calms even Liam in a split second.

\- Let me go, faggot! It’s not my problem if Tomlinson is a fucking cocksucker! Don’t touch me!

I freeze in place, along with Liam. Silence. A long silence. It's like a bomb is about to go off and time has stopped. I turn to them, and it's even worse than I thought. Worse than a bomb, worse than that. I have never seen so much hatred in one person. I can't move I can't interfere. Harry is trembling with all his body. His arm is still on Josh's throat, squeezing him so hard that he can't breathe. There's so much rage in his eyes... Not even, something more than rage. His jaw is so clenched that the words he says sound like blades on the glass.

\- What did you just call him?

I'm paralyzed by his rage. The guys from the field are running towards us, but I can't take my eyes off him. Josh coughs, trying to pull away. Harry doesn't move a millimeter. Liam, behind me, decides to step in.

\- Styles, let him go.

He tries to loosen his grip, but Harry pushes him away with his free hand, staring at Josh, who is turning red from lack of oxygen.

\- Re.pe.at.

From such an icy voice, I have shivers down my spine. The guys from the team are standing around us, and no one knows how to react. It feels like he's forgotten where he is. No one dares touch him. Fuck, Josh is pale. He's going to kill him.

\- What the hell is going on here?!

The coach's voice comes from behind me, and he pushes us aside to get closer. When he sees the scene, he opens his eyes wide.

\- Styles, let him go! - but Harry doesn't react. He only presses harder on Josh, who gasps for air without success. - Styles! - coach tries to push him away. - STYLES! - his voice is almost broken. I've never seen him so worried. He isn’t the kind of person you can impress so easily, especially when you’re a student. But right now, even he doesn't seem to know how to act. - STYLES, LET HIM GO NOW! THIS IS AN ORDER!

Harry finally turns his head, and when I see his eyes, his mouth opens involuntarily. His green eyes are almost black now, as they were the last time in the underground Parking lot. After a few seconds, that seem endless, he finally lets Josh go, who falls to the ground, coughing and holding his neck. Harry raises his hands, and the coach keeps his eyes on him as if expecting him to attack someone again. But no. His gaze still reflects hatred and rage in its purest form. He walks slowly back and angrily slams his fist into the wall before walking away. Without any word. The guys and the coach run-up to Josh, and I watch as he moves away. When he completely disappears from my field of vision, I finally get out of my stupor. I take a step to catch up with him, but the coach grabs my arm.

\- Tomlinson! You stay here!

No. I pull my hand away abruptly and start running. But it's too late. When I run out into the Parking lot, his SUV passes right in front of me, at full speed.

\- Fuck!

I try to calm down, but it's stronger than me. I kick the nearest tree. Damn. I'm so mad at myself. I couldn't even react! I stood there like an idiot, watching him lose control, and doing nothing. I think I've never been so mad at myself in my life. When I walk into the locker room, half an hour later, I still can't calm down. Only coach is still here. He probably sent all the guys home after what happened. I know he's waiting for me, but I ignore him. I don't want to talk. I'm too pissed for this. I grab my bag from the locker. I don't even take the time to change. I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible. But as soon as I'm going to passing out the door…

\- Tomlinson, stay.

Of course, it couldn't be that simple. I sigh loudly and turn to him, gritting my teeth.

\- What happened there?

\- Nothing.

\- One of my players was strangled. It's not "nothing." I demand an explanation, right now.

I stare at him as if this might work and he'll let me go home. I really don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want him to know what happened. That Harry attacked Josh because of me.

\- Tomlinson, you're not getting out of here until you explain. You're the captain of my team, and if I can't count on you, I made the wrong choice. (I can’t count on anyone.)

\- Josh made inappropriate comments.

I look at the floor, hoping he'll leave me alone. Wish me luck.

\- What kind of comments?

\- Insults.

\- Yes, I realized that if they had taken Harry out like that, it wasn't a compliment.

When I hear him call him "Harry," I look up. The coach never calls anyone by name. I frown.

\- Do you know Harry?

\- Yes, and that's why I want to know what happened.

Now that's weird. How the hell does he can know him? Harry isn’t on the team. He doesn't do any sport even, at least in college.

\- From where?

\- You don't have to know that.

Again. I feel like I'm standing in front of a philosophy Professor who also refused to answer me. Does he know all the teachers personally?

\- Okay, I'm listening. What did Devin say to Harry?

I know he won't stop until I tell him. I don't want to lie, I trust him. He is our coach, after all.

\- Homophobic statements in his direction... - I stop, biting my lip. I don't know if I should continue. I lower my eyes to the floor and whisper. - In his and... in my direction.

I’m waiting for his reaction. Being gay on the team is too much, and I'm also the captain... I don't know what to expect. I lower my head and begin to hate this silence. I managed to think of all possible answers. But not this one.

\- If Devin says anything else like that, he'll be excluded from the team. - I open my eyes wide. Is this a joke? Yes, Josh is a prick, but he's one of the best players. – I'm serious, Tomlinson. Whether it's him or someone else I will not tolerate homophobia in the team. Clear?

He distinctly enunciates every word, showing the seriousness of his intentions, and also, that my sexual orientation does not bother him at all. This is important to me. Really. Despite the shouting and the harshness, the coach is a good person. He doesn't just train us to play football, in his own way he teaches us life. He takes care of us. I don't know what to say to thank him. I hope my eyes speak for me. He nods and continues to pick up the things on the floor. I'm preparing to leave when I remember something.

\- What about Harry?

He pounced on Josh. And despite the reason, he may have problems. The coach picks up two balls and turns to me, raising an eyebrow.

\- Harry? I don't have a player named Harry on my team. - he winks, and I can't help but smile. – All right, now get out. I don't want to be told that I'm delaying my players too much.

I smile at him again and adjust the bag on my shoulder. Opening the door, I turn to him one last time.

\- Coach?

\- Yes?

\- Thank you.

I nod at him and walk out of the locker rooms.

***

Song: Jimmy Eat World – Hear You Me

Even though I'm still ignoring Liam's calls, the conversation with the coach calmed me down. Now I just need to talk to Harry. I can't stop thinking about the color of his eyes. And it scares me. I actually felt like I was back in that Parking lot. I remember him turning around and falling to the ground. Back then, his pupils were the same color. But part of me can't stop... Feel proud. It's weird, but he's become like this and attacked Josh because of me. To protect me. It means that I am dear to him. Really. More than I thought. After all, he wouldn't have reacted so radically if he didn't value me. I think so. It bothers me. I don't know what to do. I want to go to him, but if he hasn't calmed down yet, it's better not to. I don't have his number. This is also frightening. On the clock is 11 PM, I lie on my bed. Because of these thoughts, I can be safely recorded in the nuthouse. I take my computer and connect to the chat. I've already written to Anonym today, but right now I need to talk to Harry and I haven’t no other way to do it. 

_“Are you here?”_

He's online, but I don't know if he'll respond to me. I really hope so, and a few minutes later, a new message arrives. I sigh with relief.

_“Yes.” _

_“Sorry about Josh. He's just a prick.”_

_“You don't need to apologize”_

_“Are you still angry?”_

_“No.”_

_“You want me to come?”_

_“No.”_

_“You're still angry.”_

_“He insulted you.”_

_“It doesn't matter.”_

_“No. It does.”_

_“Don't worry about it”_

_“Sorry?”_

_“It isn’t worth it, Harry”_

_“Hell, of course, it is! I won't let anyone insult you, and especially that asshole.”_

_“I can handle it alone. I'm a big boy already.”_

_“No, now you are not alone anymore.”_

My heart skips a beat. Literally. Even all ten beats. I... Wow. These words. He has no idea how they affect me. He says them so easily, so simply.

_“I can't calm down. I want to hit him again. I'm afraid of exploding. Calm me. Calm me down I don't want to do anything stupid”_

I don't know what he means by "exploding" or "stupid," but I can feel all his panic through a computer screen.

_“I'll be at your house in 20 minutes”_

_“NO!”_

_“But you need me…”_

_“I can't see you now”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because”_

_“Okay, wait”_

_“Why did you turn on your webcam?”_

_“Wait”_

_“What are you doing? Are you writing something?”_

_“Wait and see”_

_“Louis?”_

_“Ta-dah!!!”_

_“...Why did you draw a horse?”_

_“This is Asshole_

_“Asshole is a dog, not a horse”_

_“But this is a dog, not a horse.”_

_“No, it's a horse”_

_“It's a dog. And it's Asshole”_

_“No”_

_“Yes”_

_“No”_

_“Yes, show him. I'm sure he'll recognize himself”_

_“It's a dog”_

_“Ah thanks”_

_“No, I mean, Asshole is a dog. He doesn't recognize the drawing”_

_“Because he's a dog”_

_“Yes, but you drew a horse”_

_“Well, I'm the worst artist in the world”_

We spend half an hour discussing my drawing of the Asshole. I correct it, change it, and erase it. I’m doing it all over again. Listening to his instructions, I start to get a better result. We went from horse to donkey. Yes, this is not ideal, but still. I try to smile and look nonchalant, but the phrases “I'm afraid of exploding.” and “I don't want to do anything stupid” burns inside me. I can still see the blades and scalpels in my head. However, I try not to show him my fear, but I’m really worried. I am very afraid for him. I don't want him to calm down by doing it... by doing this. So I talk and talk and talk again. I say the devil knows what just so him to answer me. Just to make sure that he was lying in his bed with Asshole at his feet, and his laptop on his lap, as he told me and not sitting in the bathroom. After the dog-horse-donkey Asshole, I drew a giraffe-ostrich and a pig-duck and decided to draw him.

_“Guess, who is it?”_

_“A sheep?”_

_“No, it’s you!”_

_“I’m not a sheep.”_

_“…”_

I think he felt my discomfort or realized there was something wrong. Either I’m a terrible actor, or he can read my mind.

_“Louis, what's going on?”_

_“Nothing, why?”_

_“You're not yourself.”_

_“I'm worried about you”_

_“I'm fine”_

_“Are you calm now?”_

_“Yes”_

_“I was scared”_

_“Scared of me?” _

_“No, not you. All the anger that was in you”_

_“I don't want you to be afraid of me”_

_“I'm not afraid of you”_

_“But you're afraid of what's in me”_

_“Because I don't understand”_

_“What don't you understand?”_

_“Why do you check several times to make sure the doors in your room are closed, for example?”_

_“Because I need it”_

_“See, this doesn't help me understand”_

_“I know”_

_“Will you explain it to me someday?”_

_“Yes”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise”_

_“When you’ll be ready?”_

_“Yes”_

_“Why aren't you ready?”_

_“Because I'm afraid”_

_“What are you afraid of?”_

_“That you would push me away”_

_“I won't push you away”_

_“Or you will distance yourself from me”_

_“The only thing that keeps me away from you is you. Because you never talk to me and you keep everything to yourself”_

_“I'm afraid it will change the way you look at me”_

_“Nothing will ever change the way I look at you”_

_“I'm going to sleep. Good night”_

He doesn't give me time to respond. He disconnects at the same second, and I know I've lost him for the evening.

The conversation had become too difficult, and he preferred to shut in himself again. My heart aches because he doesn't dare to tell me what I already know. It's like I'm betraying him. I have no right to do this to him I have no right to let him be afraid for nothing. He shouldn't be afraid of something that can't happen. He can't think that I'll leave him for things that will never push me away. Yes, I don't know the whole story and I don't understand half of it, but nothing can push me away. Not now. It’s too late. I realized that he was ill I know about Samantha, I know that he cu... that he's hurting himself and I'm still here. I’ll always be here. He is afraid and suffers because he hides things that hurt him. I mean, he thinks he's hiding it. And I can't do anything while he thinks he might lose me. I have to tell him the truth. I'm sure he'll be offended, but I don't want him to suffer for nothing. It can't go on like this. I have to talk to him. Quickly as possible. Tomorrow. I mean, today because it's 4:54 a.m. I don't care if he doesn't forgive me. I don't want to lie to him anymore. I send my last email before I close my computer.

_“23.”_

I turn off the light and lie on the bed, thinking about him, in total darkness. About him and our history. 123 days ago, he sent me the first email. 123 days ago, it all started. What if I didn't answer him? What if I ignored his message like I ignored hundreds of others? If he hadn't come into my life? If _they_ hadn't come into my life. I still was being Louis. Only Louis. But not now. Now I'm Louis & Harry, because "_now, you're not alone anymore". _123 days. It only took Harry 123 days to turn my life around. He made a terrible mess in my mind and in my heart. He and his green eyes. He destroyed my entire world. But if I was given a chance to go back, I wouldn't change anything. Because for the first time in 21 years, I feel that my life has meaning. And that meaning is him. I don't know where this will lead us. But I know for a fact that what I feel for him, I've never felt before.

_I realized one more thing this evening, talking to him the same way I did to Anonym. I figured out why I needed both of them. I realized that I needed both Harry and Anonym because by talking to Anonym, I could finally get through to Harry._

_It's easier for him to open up to me through him._

***

**“Don’t leave me. I can’t fall anymore.” – Harry.**


End file.
